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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28196541">The Opposite of Love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teeelsie/pseuds/Teeelsie'>Teeelsie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winterhawk - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Barney &amp; Laura are married, Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, M/M, References to physical abuse of a child, Sharing a Bed, Some Humor (hopefully), Some angst, The kids are theirs, There was only one bed!, screen-reader friendly, very light D/s</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:54:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,400</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28196541</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teeelsie/pseuds/Teeelsie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You know that social media post where the guy says he’s a felon and he’ll come terrorize your family for Thanksgiving in exchange for a free meal?  Yeah, that’s what this is.  Except that Clint is Clint, and Bucky is Bucky, and they’re both Avengers, but Clint’s family is a bunch of assholes and Bucky decides to help him out with that.  Oh, and it’s Christmas, not Thanksgiving.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Barney Barton/Laura Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>108</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>441</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Excellent Clint Barton centric fiction, Winterhawk Wonderland - 2020 edition!</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. December 23 - December 24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLoopyLisa/gifts">LoonyLoopyLisa</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Okay, so, I started this fic for the 2019 Winterhawk Wonderland Fic Exchange where my recip was LoonyLoopyLisa.  I didn't sign up this year because I was feeling a bit over-extended and I didn't want to end up giving someone a gift that I didn't feel good about.  But then I was poking around through my WIP files a few weeks ago and came across the 4K of fic that I had drafted for L3 for last year's exchange, but then abandoned when I wrote "Phases of the Moon."  When I read though what had vexed me so much last year, somehow things began to fall into place.  So I started working on it again, and since I started this fic for L3 based on her prompts, I'm finishing it for her, and the Mods have said it's okay to post it with this year's WinterHawk Exchange.  So, Happy Holidays, L3!!</p><p>There is a kiss in this chapter that some could interpret as dubcon, but I want to be clear that that is not my intent.  In other words, no one is unhappy about it.  Well, except Clint's asshole family, but that's kinda the point.  </p><p>No beta on this one and it's going to show.  But I pushed this out pretty quickly and I didn't want to pester my lovelies while they're trying to enjoy the holidays.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">December 23</span>
</p><p> </p><p>“Where is everyone?” Bucky asks.</p><p> </p><p>Bruce startles and looks up from where he had been concentrating on a laptop screen while munching on a sandwich at the kitchen counter.  “Oh, hey, I didn’t think you were going to be back for another week.” </p><p> </p><p>“I wasn’t, but things wrapped up early.  The place feels empty.”  He knew that Steve had planned to go to England to visit Peggy since Bucky was supposed to be gone, and sadly, it was clear she was close to the end.  He didn’t know about anyone else.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I guess it is,” Bruce answers, as though just realizing it.  “Natasha got called out, Thor headed back to Asgard for a while, and Tony took Pepper to some private island he’s got somewhere.”</p><p> </p><p>“Clint?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I’m not entirely sure.  He mumbled something about his family when he walked out of here with a duffle bag yesterday, but I didn’t quite catch it.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky raises his eyebrows.  “Really?  I could have sworn he said he was staying here for the holidays.”</p><p> </p><p>“I thought so too.”  Bruce shrugs.  “Probably figured that since Natasha wasn’t going to be here, he might as well go home, right?  I’m sorry I didn’t pay more attention, I’ve been taking advantage of the quiet to get some lab work done,” he says apologetically.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky waves him off and heads to his apartment.  He’s surprise, though.  He could have sworn Barton had alluded to the fact that he and his family were not on good terms, without really elaborating.  Of course, getting Barton to elaborated on much of anything except weapons, weaponry, and the inherent qualities found in different types of weapons, was like pulling teeth; the man held his cards close to the chest. </p><p> </p><p>Curious, Bucky pulls out his phone and shoots off a text. </p><p> </p><p>&lt;where r u&gt; </p><p> </p><p>The response doesn’t come until two hours later when Bucky’s dozing on the couch after eating half a leftover pizza that he pilfered from the common refrigerator.  The green peppers made it a dead giveaway that it had been Barton’s, but Bucky felt like it was fair game since the guy had left.    </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>&lt;iowa&gt;</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Weird.  As far as he can remember, Clint’s never sent a text that didn’t include a smart-ass remark, an emoji, a .gif, or a terrible selfie of some kind. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>&lt;wtf r u doing there&gt;</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It takes another couple of hours.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>&lt;having my soul slowly bled from my body&gt;</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>&lt;I gotta ask again&gt;</em>
</p><p>
  <em>&lt;wtf r u doing there&gt;</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Laura asked me to come&gt;</em>
</p><p>
  <em>&lt;for the kids&gt;</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Bucky stares at the text.  He has no idea who Laura or the kids are.  Distant alarms are going off in his head because they’ve known each other for a year and a half, and in that time, Clint has revealed very little about his life outside of the Avengers and SHIELD.  Something is wrong here and it’s that nagging feeling that has Bucky sending the next text:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>&lt;want some company?&gt;</em>
</p><p> </p><p>When an hour comes and goes without a response, he heads to bed.  He’s about to snap the light off when his phone vibrates. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>&lt;I wdnt ask that of my worst enemy much less someone I actually like&gt;  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>&lt;when u coming back&gt;</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s tries to wait for the response, but it’s too long coming and he’s asleep before it finally does.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">December 24</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Bucky yawns and stretches and grabs his phone off the bedside table.  There’s a response from Clint that came in the middle of the night.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>&lt;not sure&gt;</em>
</p><p>
  <em>&lt;after xmas&gt; </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It’s early and he’s in no rush to get up—he has nothing planned, nothing to do—so he opens his email.  There’s one from Steve, checking in, but otherwise nothing interesting.  He’s idly scrolling through his news feed when a thought comes to him.     </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Jarvis,” Bucky unconsciously looks at the ceiling.  “Is one of Tony’s plane’s around?”  Clint hadn’t actually <em>said </em>he didn’t want him to come. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, Sergeant Barnes.  Sir’s Embraer Phenom 300 is in the hanger.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky whistles lightly.  It’s a sweet plane and he doubts that Stark would want him taking it for what amounts to a joy ride, but it’s worth a shot.  “Would you be able to contact Tony and ask him if I could maybe…borrow it?”</p><p> </p><p>“That will not be necessary.  Sir has left blanket permissions for any of the Avengers to borrow any of his vehicles.”</p><p><br/>“Really?” </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, Sergeant Barnes.”</p><p> </p><p>“So, I just need to go to the hangar and…”</p><p> </p><p>“The keys will be in the ignition, so to speak,” the AI says wryly.</p><p> </p><p>“Huh.”  Bucky thinks about it while he goes for a bracing five-mile run in the 10-degree temperature, turns it over in his head some more while he showers, and considers what Barton’s reaction might be while he makes himself a peanut butter and banana sandwich. </p><p> </p><p>In the end, it comes down to, 1) no one’s around except Bruce and he clearly doesn’t want company, 2) he’s bored, and 3) the worst that can happen is Barton tells him to get lost and he comes back to New York.  But even if that happens, it will have been a several-hours-long diversion.  Bucky’s pretty positive it’s rude to just arrive unannounced at someone’s house for the holidays, but he can always play the ‘I was in cryo-freeze for the last 70 years and I don’t know modern etiquette’ card.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t really acknowledge that maybe the real reason is that Barton’s texts don’t sound quite right and there’s something about it that makes Bucky uneasy.</p><p> </p><p>He washes down the last of his sandwich with a glass of milk, then goes to his room and shoves some clothes into a pack.  He makes a stop at the large storage closet on the common floor, and as he’s waiting for the elevator, he looks up again.  “Hey, Jarvis, can you check Barton’s file and find me coordinates to his family’s house.”</p><p> </p><p>The AI doesn’t respond. </p><p> </p><p>The elevator opens, but Bucky doesn’t get in.  “Jarvis?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sir.”</p><p> </p><p>“Coordinates?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to share that information.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?  Why not?”</p><p> </p><p>“Agent Barton has marked all information about his family in the official files as not to be shared.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky chews his lips and stands there for a moment, unsure what to do.</p><p> </p><p>“If I may, Sergeant Barnes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?”<br/><br/><br/></p><p>“A simple google search would likely net you the information you seek.”</p><p> </p><p>He cocks his head at the ceiling.  “You’re kinda devious, aren’t you, Jarvis.”</p><p> </p><p>“I am simply pointing out the obvious, sir.”</p><p> </p><p>He remembers that Jarvis is everywhere, so he finally steps into the elevator.  "Sure, okay.  Let’s see…can you please google Barney Barton for me.  Wait, that’s not right.  Charles Bernard Barton?”  Bucky’s pretty sure that’s the name Barton had mentioned when they were both drunk (okay, Bucky wasn’t drunk because he can’t really <em>get</em> drunk, but he had a mild buzz, and Barton was definitely drunk) and trading stories not too long ago.  It was the time that Barton had let on that there was no love lost between him and his family.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course.”  He sounds mildly affronted that Bucky would ask such a question.  “A good number of files are available.  What would you like to know?”</p><p> </p><p>“Address?”</p><p> </p><p>“Charles and Laura Barton reside at 1001 1<sup>st</sup> Street Northwest, in Rochester, Minnesota.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not it,” Bucky mumbles to himself, but that answers the question about who Laura is.  He tilts his face to look at the ceiling again.  He always feels like an idiot doing that, but it feels more strange to not talk at something.  “Can you find Charles Barton’s father’s name?”</p><p> </p><p>“Charles Bernard Barton’s father’s name is Harold John Barton,” Jarvis tells him, then anticipating Bucky’s next question, adds, “He and his wife Claudette reside at 14883 State Trunk Highway 77, just outside of the small hamlet of Wavery, Iowa.”</p><p> </p><p>Bingo.  “Great.  Closest airport that can accommodate the Embrear?”</p><p> </p><p>“The Waverly Municipal Airport, approximately 2.5 miles from Harold Barton’s house.”</p><p> </p><p>If that’s not a sign that he’s doing the right thing, Bucky can’t imagine what would be.  The elevator door opens and he slings his pack onto his shoulders, zipping his jacket against the cold. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Bucky walks the two and a half miles in the freezing cold of December in Iowa.  There are several inches of snow on the ground and more is piling up every minute but it’s not nearly as bad as the snowstorm he fought his way through outside of Helsinki in ‘65, so he’s not complaining.  Still, a couple people stop and ask if he needs a lift.  Bucky shakes his head to himself after he waves the second one on.  Midwestern hospitality.  These people have no idea who they are offering a ride to. </p><p> </p><p>The mailbox by the road has ‘Barton’ helpfully painted on it with crude black brushstrokes.   He can’t see the house; it’s set back too far and there are a lot of trees along the curved drive.  Bucky pauses for a moment, then takes a deep breath and starts trudging toward the house.  </p><p> </p><p>It’s nice.  Picturesque, even.  A large Victorian farmhouse with a wrap-around veranda sits in the middle of a clearing; a barn mirrors it about fifty yards away.   He climbs the steps to the porch and rings the doorbell. </p><p> </p><p>A moment later, a small boy cracks open the door and peers one eye out at him.  “Hello,” the kid says.</p><p> </p><p>“Uh, hi.  I’m looking for Clint Barton.  Is he here?”</p><p> </p><p>The boy turns and yells over his shoulder.  “Uncle Clint!  There’s someone at the door for you!”  He turns back to keep staring one-eyed at Bucky.  It takes all of Bucky’s self-control not to fidget uncomfortably under the intense gaze.</p><p> </p><p>Clint approaches through the room inside and Bucky sees the moment he registers that it’s Bucky at the door; his face morphs from curious into surprise. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Nate, I got this, thanks.”  He gently directs the boy away from the door.  Once he’s gone, Clint grabs his coat from a hook and steps outside, closing the door behind him.  “What are you doing here?” He looks over Bucky shoulder where the snow is coming down even harder now.  “<em>How</em> did you even get here?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky grins.  “I took one of Tony’s jets.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?” Clint corresponding grin lights up his face.  “Which one?”</p><p> </p><p>“The Embraer Phenom 300,” he answers, feeling slightly smug.</p><p> </p><p>Clint whistles just like Bucky had earlier that day.  “Nice ride.  How’d she handle?” </p><p> </p><p>“Like a dream.  She—”</p><p> </p><p>They’re interrupted by a ‘thunk’ behind them and they both turn to see three small kids scrambling away from the window.</p><p> </p><p>“Right,” Clint says, his train of thought apparently coming back to him.  “So, <em>what</em> are you doing here?”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh.  I got back early, and no one was around.  I was bored.”  He shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>“Bucky, I have seen you literally lay around for days and do nothing but read and watch television, and you couldn’t have been happier.  So, you wanna tell me what you’re really doing here?”  Clint eyes him suspiciously.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky scowls. “You kinda made it sound like you and your family don’t get on, so I was surprised when you said you were here.  And then your texts were weird.  I was worried.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint looks over his shoulder at the closed door.  “What do you mean, my texts were weird?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know.  They were weird!  No jokes or…emojis—”</p><p> </p><p>“Seriously?  You flew all the way to Iowa because I didn’t add a smiley face to my texts?”</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever!  You didn’t sound like you, so I thought maybe you could use some back-up.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint pinches the bridge of his nose for a second.  “Bucky, this isn’t an op.  I’m spending the holidays with my family.  I don’t need back-up.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky knows that.  He’s seen Clint on every kind of op imaginable; the man can take care of himself.  Bucky suddenly feels self-conscious.  “Look, I’m sorry,” he says.  “You’re right.  I shouldn’t have just shown up like this.  I’ll go.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint flicks a glance over Bucky’s shoulder.  “Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky swivels and looks, too.  “What?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’ll never get clearance to fly right now.  They’ve been talking for 2 days about this snowstorm moving in.  I’m surprised you were able to land.”</p><p> </p><p>“Piece of cake,” he says.  Sure, it had been near white-out conditions, and maybe the tower had told him he couldn’t land, but he’d claimed an emergency and did it anyway.  It wasn’t that hard.  Clint’s right, though; he’s not likely to get clearance to take off.  “But listen, I can walk into town and find a hotel.  Wait it out.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint sighs.  “No.  Besides the fact that there are literally no motels in Waverly, you’re here, you might as well stay.”</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t sound too enthusiastic about it and Bucky’s definitely feeling really stupid.  “Nah.  You’re clearly fine, and I don’t wanna intrude.  I can sleep on the plane; it’d probably be more comfortable than a hotel anyway.” </p><p> </p><p>“It’s not that you’d be intruding.  It’s just, ah…” Clint rubs the back of his neck and sneaks a quick look behind him. </p><p> </p><p>“What?  Are you worried I can’t play it nice and polite?”</p><p> </p><p>An unhappy laugh burbles out of Clint.  “Yeah, that’s not it.  I don’t mind having you here, but honestly, I don’t think you want to be.  My dad and his wife, and my brother…they’re not good people.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then why are <em>you</em> here?”</p><p> </p><p>Clint sighs and slumps against the porch railing.  “Barney’s wife, Laura…we go way back.  I like her.  And I love their kids.  I’d do anything for them.”</p><p> </p><p>That doesn’t really answer Bucky’s question.  “Okay.” </p><p> </p><p>Clint sighs.  “Laura called a few days ago.  Asked if I would come.  Normally I’d tell her ‘sorry’, but she sounded sorta…off.  Thought I better come and see what’s what.”</p><p> </p><p>“So… You don’t like your old man and brother?”<br/><br/></p><p>“They're not really my kinda people.  They're mostly mean-spirited assholes.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky flicks a glance at the house.  He can see movement behind the curtains.  He looks back at Clint.  “I could, you know, come in and be an asshole back at them.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint jerks his head up and looks at Bucky.  He stares for a long minute and Bucky can see the wheels turning in his head.  Eventually, a smile curls at the corner of Clint’s lips.  “Yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky grins.  “I could pretend to be your boyfriend.”</p><p> </p><p>The smile that had been growing on Clint’s face, fades entirely.</p><p> </p><p>“Or not,” Bucky says quickly.</p><p> </p><p>Clint stares at the floor for a second, then looks back up at Bucky.  “Look, uh, there’s something…I’m not sure you’re aware of, that you should know.  I don’t really hide it.  But you and I have never talked about it…”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky waits him out.</p><p> </p><p>Clint crosses his arms.  “Look, I am actually gay.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay?”<br/><br/></p><p>Clint shrugs but doesn’t look Bucky in the eye.  “It matters to some people.”</p><p> </p><p>“I thought people were mostly cool with that kind of thing now.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, decent people are.  But there are still plenty of people like my old man and my asshole of a brother who can’t get past their homophobia.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky scoffs.  “Well that’s just stupid.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Clint says, looking away toward the barn.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky nudges his shoulder.  “So.  You want me to come in and play your gay boyfriend?  Piss ‘em off a little?”</p><p> </p><p>Clint gives him a tentative look.  “You sure you’re up for that?  It won’t be pleasant.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky gives him a feral grin and takes a step toward the door.  “I think it sounds like fun.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, wait!” Clint stops him from opening the door.  “Two things.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky sees a spark in Clint’s eyes; there’s a reason why he kinda likes Barton.  “Yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“Be nice to Laura and the kids.”</p><p> </p><p>“No problem.  What else?”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t…talk about the Avengers.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?  How come?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because my family doesn’t know that I’m Hawkeye.”</p><p> </p><p>That stops Bucky in his tracks<em>.  “Why?”</em></p><p> </p><p>Clint’s mouth firms into a hard line.  “Because I haven’t told them, and I don’t want you to, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky puts his hands up placatingly.  “Hey, whatever you say.  Your house, your rules.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks.”  Clint’s face smooths out, losing some of its tension.  He gives Bucky a considering look.  “You sure about this?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, I got this, Barton, I’m a great actor.  I played Romeo in our high school production.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint raises his eyebrows dubiously but doesn’t say anything else before opening the door.</p><p> </p><p>There are three kids sitting on the couch in the front room watching television.  They all look up when Clint and Bucky walk in. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, kids,” Clint says with a genuine smile.  “This is James.”  Bucky blinks in surprise when Clint introduces him that way, but he rolls with it.  “James, these are my nephews, Cooper and Nate, and my niece Lila.”</p><p> </p><p>The kids say hello and Bucky can’t help staring.  They could honest-to-god be little versions of Barton, except that Clint is blond and these kids have reddish or dark hair.  But they all seem to have some piece of him in their faces.  Cooper has his lopsided smile; Lila, his striking eyes; and the little one who answered the door, Nate, seems to have the intensity that Bucky’s seen on Hawkeye in the middle of a fight.  Bucky looks up from them to see a woman walking into the room, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Laura, this is…a friend of mine.  James.  James, this is Laura, my sister-in-law.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky reaches out his hand.  “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”</p><p> </p><p>Laura shakes his hand and laughs.  “Oh, god, please don’t call me ‘ma’am’.  Laura is just fine.  And I thought you went by Bucky.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint shoots a glance over to the kids but they’re back to being fully absorbed by whatever show they’re watching.  “I don’t want the others to make the connection,” Clint says, keeping his voice low.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah,” Laura says, and mimes locking her lips. </p><p> </p><p>Her smile disappears as a man walks out from behind her.  He’s wearing khaki pants, a red and green plaid button down, and a fucking red cardigan.  “Who the hell are you?”</p><p> </p><p>Beside him, Clint pretty much goes blank, causing a klaxon to go off in Bucky’s head.  “Barney this is James Buchanan.  He’s a friend of mine from New York.  James, this is my brother, Barney.”</p><p> </p><p>Barney scoffs.  “A <em>friend?</em>” </p><p> </p><p>“Well,” Bucky grins and sidesteps closer to Clint, then drapes his arm over Clint’s shoulder.  “His boyfriend,” he smiles innocently. </p><p> </p><p>Barney’s eyes flash.  He looks Bucky up and down, the shifts his gaze to Clint.  “Your <em>boyfriend?</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Beside him, Clint’s expression doesn’t change, but Bucky cocks his head and gives the other Barton his most menacing smile.  “Problem?”</p><p> </p><p>Barney turns his own unfriendly grin back at him.  “No, no problem.”  He laughs to himself and walks away.  “Hey, Claudette!” he yells.  “You’ve got another guest!”</p><p> </p><p>Laura glances uneasily behind herself and then steps up to Bucky.  “Let me take your coat, James.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint waves her off.  “I’ve got it, Laura.  You don’t need to wait on us.”  He takes Bucky’s parka and tosses it from the middle of the room to the row of six coat hooks by the door.  It catches on the only empty one.</p><p> </p><p>Laura puts her hand to her chest.  “Be still my heart,” she laughs.  “I always was a sucker for your tricks.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint clearly blushes.  “Nothing special about good aim,” he mumbles. </p><p> </p><p>A second later, a prim older woman enters.  “Oh.  Hello,” she says woodenly, eyes shifting between him and Clint.</p><p> </p><p>“Claudette.  I apologize for no warning, but, uh, a friend of mine from New York is here.  James.  This is my father’s wife, Claudette.”</p><p> </p><p>The woman stares disapprovingly at both of them.  “Well, you showed up unannounced, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that your friend would, too,” she mutters and walks away.</p><p> </p><p>“Nice to meet you,” Bucky calls after her, then looks at Clint. </p><p> </p><p>“Come on,” Clint says, “I’ll show you where we bunk.”</p><p> </p><p>He follows Clint upstairs and down to the end of the hall.  The room he opens to is hardly a bedroom at all.  It’s small as a jail cell, and freezing cold, with just a single bed, a moth-eaten chair in a hideous brown-plaid pattern, and a small dresser.  </p><p> </p><p>“Not quite Stark Tower,” Clint says apologetically.  “It’s okay, I can sleep in the chair.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, no, I’m the one who showed up uninvited.  I’ll sleep in the chair.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint gets that stubborn look on his face but before he can argue, Bucky says, “Your step-mother’s a peach.”  He tosses his pack in the corner.</p><p> </p><p>“I think of her more as my father’s wife,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not a fan?”</p><p> </p><p>Clint grunts.  “We’ve never been close.  My dad married her less than a year after my mom died.”</p><p> </p><p>“When was that?”</p><p> </p><p>“When I was ten.  My dad was driving drunk and crashed the car.  He walked away without a scratch.  She didn’t walk away.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky puffs out a breath.  “That’s rough.  I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint sighs.  “Yeah.  Me, too.”</p><p> </p><p>“So, is there something between you and Laura?” he asks.  Her familiar way with him and his blush clearly said that there is, but Clint had just told him he’s gay, so he’s having trouble putting the pieces together.</p><p> </p><p>Clint drops into the chair.  “Nah.”  He flaps his hand.  “She grew up just down the road from us.  We’ve been friends as long as I can remember.  Tried dating in 8<sup>th</sup> grade, but it didn’t last ‘cause, ya know,” he shrugs, and flicks an uneasy glance at Bucky, then out the window.  “She was the first person I told that I thought I might be gay.”</p><p> </p><p>“And then she married your brother?”</p><p> </p><p>Clint’s face hardens.  “Barney was always sniffing after her.  I left when I was 15 and didn’t look back.  I should’ve known he wouldn’t leave her alone.”  He sounds regretful.</p><p> </p><p>“You left when you were 15?”</p><p> </p><p>Clint grimaces.  “Yeah.  Barney saw me kissing another boy and told the old man.  He was never what you'd call loving, but that day he beat me unconscious.  When I could actually manage it, I packed a bag and left.”<br/><br/></p><p>“Where’d you go?”</p><p> </p><p>Clint gives him a half-grin.  “There was a circus passing through town.  I joined up.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky gapes at him.  “Is that where you learned the bow?”</p><p> </p><p>Clint nods.  “Stayed there for five years before I had a bit of trouble with my mentor and things got ugly.  Coulson found me a few years later.  The rest,” he spreads his hands wide and plasters a brittle smile on his face, “is history.”</p><p> </p><p>Outside, the sound of a vehicle can be heard.  Clint looks out the window and Bucky can see the tension ripple through his body.  He sucks in a deep breath and then exhales loudly.   “Old man’s home,” he looks across the small space.  “You ready?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky grins.  “As I’ll ever be.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They sit down in the large, eat-in kitchen to a light Christmas Eve dinner of oyster stew, which he’s told is a traditional dish, but near as Bucky can make out, is just warm milk with a few oysters floating in it, and maybe a bit of salt and pepper.  If you ask him, it’s kinda gross. </p><p> </p><p>Clint had told him that his family was a bunch of assholes, so it’s no surprise when they turn out to be just that (Harold had looked down at the hand that Bucky had offered and then turned away--what a prince).  What is a surprise is how Clint reacts to their near-constant passive-aggressive comments, their not so subtle put downs, and their outright derision.  The Clint Barton he knows is smart, quick-witted, and capable of striking fear into anyone with a single withering look.  The Clint Barton sitting at the table this night seems to be none of those things.  He sits passive and seemingly undisturbed, never rising to the bait that his father and brother are throwing at him practically nonstop.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky can’t understand Clint’s lack of reaction, but it feels like dissociation, which is disturbing.  Watching it makes him feel like it's time to start earning his keep.  </p><p> </p><p>He stands up and walks to the refrigerator.  “Mind if I get a beer?” Bucky asks over his shoulder, then grabs two before anyone can answer.  He pops one open and guzzles the whole thing down in one go, then crushes the can with his metal arm and tosses it onto the counter.  He looks at the other can in his hand.  “Wow.  You have really shitty taste in beer, Harold.”  He pops the top on the second can.  “Most people bring out the good stuff when they have company.”</p><p> </p><p>Harold and Barney glare at him and Claudette gapes.  Laura’s eyes are bright, and the kids are looking back and forth between all the adults, seemingly unsure of how they should be reacting.  He catches Clint’s eye to check himself, but Clint doesn’t seem to be sending him any messages, so Bucky figures he’s okay to keep going.  He sits back down at the table to find Nate—who’s sitting next to him—watching him closely.</p><p> </p><p>“You hand is weird,” Nate says, squinting at Bucky’s left arm. </p><p> </p><p>Bucky had worn the prosthetic flesh sleeve, so it’s not as noticeable, but anyone who looks closely would be able to tell it’s not a real human arm. </p><p> </p><p>“Nathaniel!” Laura says, giving Bucky an apologetic look.</p><p> </p><p>“Nah, It’s okay.  Kids are curious.  It’s uh, it’s a prosthetic.  Do you know what that means?” he asks the small boy.</p><p> </p><p>Nate shakes his head.</p><p> </p><p>“It means I lost my arm, so some doctors gave me a new one, but it’s not real like yours, it’s made of metal.”</p><p> </p><p>“Cool!” Nate says, and the other kids start looking interested, too.</p><p> </p><p>“How did you lose it?” Barney asks, but it’s more of a sneer. </p><p> </p><p>As far as Bucky is concerned, Nate has an excuse for his directness: he’s four.  But for Barney to ask so bluntly at the dinner table is kind of a dick move, in Bucky’s opinion.  He slides his eyes over to Clint, trying to give him fair warning, then smiles at Barney.</p><p> </p><p>“I got shot,” he says, then guzzles half of the beer in the can.  He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand then shakes his head at the can.  “Yep, still shitty.”</p><p> </p><p>That seems to peek <em>everybody’s</em> interest, even Clint’s who flicks a single eyebrow up, but otherwise doesn’t react.  He thinks he knows Barton well enough to understand that it’s not a warning; it’s more of an ‘oh, reeeally’, with a chaser of, ‘do tell, Bucky.’</p><p> </p><p>“Were you in the military?  In the Middle East?” Barney asks.</p><p> </p><p>He’s noticed Barney’s military haircut, the way he stands at attention when his father is nearby, the way he orders his wife and kids around like a drill sergeant.  Bucky’s got a hell of a lot of respect for the military and veterans, but these people don’t know that.  He makes a show of scoffing loudly.  “Yeah, no.  You couldn’t pay me enough to sign up to be a fucking fascist.”  He glances at the children at the other end of the table.  “Sorry, kids.  Bad language, don’t use the F word.” </p><p> </p><p>Across the table, Barney’s narrowed his eyes and is glaring at Bucky, but Clint’s step-mom, either oblivious or a stone-cold bitch, presses the question.  “So how did you get shot?”</p><p> </p><p>“The fu— The cops busted into my apartment and shot me, can you believe that?  Thought I'd robbed a bank.  They never found any of the money though, so they had to let me go.”  He gives her a wicked grin and, flustered, she quickly looks down at her bowl.</p><p> </p><p>He sees Clint’s father and brother alternately having a silent conversation with their eyes, and staring daggers at Clint, but Clint sits impassive, spooning soup into his mouth.  Bucky catches Cooper’s eye and winks at him and the boy grins and ducks his head into his own bowl. </p><p> </p><p>Harold is apparently happy enough to move on to a new topic of conversation and he starts grilling Clint about his job.  It’s clear that Clint’s told his family he’s a mall-cop-level security guard, and the questions his father asks are mean and pointed, and obviously meant to humiliate and demean his younger son.  Clint just answers the questions, his words devoid of emotion.  This flat-affect version of Clint is one that Bucky's never seen before and he really, really doesn't like it.  He's just about at the point where he’s going to reach across the table and crush Harold’s throat with his metal hand, when Clint catches his eye and gives him an almost imperceptible shake of the head. </p><p> </p><p>Bucky frowns.  Fine.  Physical violence is out.  But Clint had been cool with him being a rude and difficult guest, so Bucky will just have to turn up the volume on that a bit.  He picks up his bowl and drinks the rest of the stew directly from it, and when he finishes, he sets it onto the table with a loud ‘clunk,’ earning himself a scowl from Claudette. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, that was…real interesting soup.”  He pushes his chair back, scraping it noisily on the floor, and stands up.  He stretches—making sure his shirt rides up, so his belly is exposed—and belches loudly.  “Hey, you got anything else to eat around here?” he asks over his shoulder as he shuffles toward the refrigerator.  “I mean, how is anyone supposed to survive on a bowl of warm milk and oysters, amIright?  What are you, cats?”  He snickers and opens the door to the refrigerator, staring inside for a moment while absently scratching his stomach.  As much as he’s mostly trying to be rude, he’s also truthfully starving.  He hasn’t eaten anything since that peanut butter and banana sandwich that morning, and that bowl of ‘stew’ has done nothing to curb his hunger. </p><p> </p><p>The refrigerator is packed full for the holiday and he roots around in it, settling on some sliced ham and a brick of cheese.  He backs out of the refrigerator with them, snagging the mustard as he goes, then steps over to the counter where he’d earlier spotted a loaf a bread.  He hums ‘Good King Wenceslas’ loudly as he makes himself two thick sandwiches, fully aware that except for his humming, there’s only silence in the room.  When he turns back to the table, all eyes are on him.  Clint is watching him with a bland expression, but his eyes a dancing.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, sorry, where are my manners” he says.  “Anybody else want one?”  He holds the sandwiches up.</p><p> </p><p>Cooper looks around, and Bucky doesn’t miss how he looks at his father nervously before he raises his hand, just a little.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky grins.  “Sure thing, Coop!”  He starts to open and close cupboards until he finds something suitable for the occasion:  what looks like it must be Claudette’s fine china.  He takes out what is clearly a saucer for a teacup and drops the ham sandwich onto it.  “You can have one of mine,” he says, setting the food in front of the boy who quickly picks it up and starts shoveling it into his mouth.  Bucky doesn’t blame him.  He returns to his chair and dives into his own sandwich, making a point of groaning in pleasure.  “Now <em>this</em> is good!”</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” Claudette says, but doesn’t follow it with anything.  Instead, she stands and starts clearing the dishes. </p><p> </p><p>Clint and Laura jump up to help, and the kids take that as their cue to scram—Cooper takes the sandwich—but Harold and Barney stay where they are.  Bucky faces them and chews his food with a smile on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Church service is at 8:00 tonight.  You’re expected to attend,” Harold says, with a scowl on his face. </p><p> </p><p>Before Clint can answer, Bucky snorts.  “Oh, fuck, no!”  He sees Claudette flinch at the sink.  “Oh, sorry.  I thought I was good to use grown-up words now.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not a church-goer, what a surprise,” Barney mutters.  “You sure know how to pick ‘em, <em>Francis</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“All religion is fucking bullshit,” Bucky says, then shoves the last of his sandwich in his mouth.  “Also,” he adds, still chewing his food, “You might wanna rethink it yourselves.  I wouldn’t take my kids anywhere near those pedophile priests.” </p><p> </p><p>“You will not speak that way in my house,” Harold booms out at the same time that Claudette turns around at the sink, her hands covered in soapy bubbles. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re being extremely rude,” she snaps.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky laughs.  “Oh, <em>I’m</em> being rude?” he says, and swallows the last of his sandwich.  He chases it with the last of the beer, then belches again and stands up.  “Look in the mirror, lady.” </p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s starting to feel like he needs a break from these people, but not before one last parting shot.  Earlier, he’d spotted the mistletoe hanging above the door between the kitchen and the formal dining room.  He snags Clint’s arm.  “Come over here, Baby.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wha—”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky cuts off Clint’s question with a crushing kiss.  Clint startles for half a second, then Bucky feels him relax, playing along.  Bucky snakes one arm around his waist, pulling them tight together, and grips the back of Clint’s neck with his other hand, holding him close as he plunders Clint’s mouth.  He makes it look good—it’s not a single cute kiss, it’s hardcore making out—wet and open-mouthed, voracious, verging on obscene.  Oh hell, it’s not verging, it <em>is</em> obscene.</p><p> </p><p>The thing is, Barton gives as good as he gets, and Bucky loses himself in it for a moment, just enjoying the warm slide of their tongues, while behind them, Clint’s family makes noises of outrage.  When Bucky reluctantly pulls back after several long seconds, he’s fully aware of his quickening heartbeat and the three pairs of eyes that would be burning holes in him if they were able.  He leans forward again and catches Clint’s bottom lip between his teeth, pulling back and tugging it with him for a second before letting it go and then licking it. </p><p> </p><p>“Mmmm,” Bucky hums as he lightly swipes his thumb across Clint’s bottom lip.  “I fucking love your mouth, Baby.”  Clint chokes a little and Bucky would swear his face turns a shade of pink.</p><p> </p><p>For his part, their make-out session has Bucky riding half a chubby, and as fun as it is to make Clint’s family uncomfortable, he doesn’t want to make <em>Clint</em> uncomfortable.  He already probably crossed the line with that kiss and if Barton sees how worked up it made Bucky, it’ll likely make things awkward between them.  He turns to the others.  “’Scuse me, if you would.  I guess that oyster stew went right through me.  I gotta go drop a hot bomb, if you know what I mean.”  He winks at them, then turns back to Clint and leers.  “Can’t wait to continue this later, Love.” </p><p> </p><p>He clomps loudly up the stairs and shuts himself in the bathroom where he sits on the closed toilet and does his best to will away his nascent erection.  All it really takes is thinking about how Clint’s father had talked to Clint at the dinner table; Bucky can’t remember anything pissing him off quite so much in recent memory.  He collects himself, and by the time he hears Clint in the hall ten minutes later, Bucky’s lying on the bed with his hands laced behind his head, contemplating what other obnoxious things he can do. </p><p> </p><p>Clint walks into the room and falls heavily onto the chair, dropping his face into his hands.  His body seems to be shaking. </p><p> </p><p>“Shit,” Bucky says, sitting up.  “Did I go too far?  I’m sorry, I should have asked before I kissed you.”</p><p> </p><p>When Clint looks up, though, his face is bright red and he’s—quietly—laughing so hard there are tears streaming down his face.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky grins.  “Not too far, then.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my god, that was beautiful!  They’re so flustered they don’t even know what to do with themselves.”  His eyes are dancing with glee.  “That performance might just have made this whole trip worth it.”</p><p> </p><p>“I told you I was good.”  If being an asshole to Clint’s family can put that smile on Clint’s face, then Bucky’s just getting started.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They hole up in the room for the next forty-five minutes until the family leaves for church.  Clint talks about what it was like growing up in Iowa and about his friendship with Laura; how he’s made a point of visiting her and the kids every year so they will know their Uncle Clint, usually when Barney is somewhere else; how much he loves the kids.  He doesn’t really talk about the rest of the family and that’s fine with Bucky.  He’s seen enough to understand exactly who these people are. </p><p> </p><p>Once they hear the front door shut, and the house settles into silence, Clint stands up abruptly.  It’s like a switch has flipped and he’s suddenly all pent-up energy, arms twitching, hands flexing.  “I need to go shoot.” </p><p> </p><p>They head back downstairs, this time with Clint carrying his bow and quiver.  Bucky grabs a couple more beers out of the refrigerator and follows him out to the barn.  It’s only marginally warmer in there than it is outside, and their breath is visible, but as soon as they get there, Clint strips out of his jacket and gloves and starts rapid-firing arrows from one end of the barn to the other.  Somewhere along the way—Bucky did not see where—Clint had acquired a Santa hat and it’s perched atop his head.  Something about that makes Bucky happy.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky leans against a support beam and watches.  He’s mostly only seen Clint shoot when the Avengers are called out, or when they’re running team practice drills; he’s never just sat back and watched him like this.  Of course, he’d known Clint was good.  Nobody questions that.  He’s fluid and graceful and he makes it look effortless.  But it’s the expression on Clint’s face as he shoots that makes Bucky’s breath catch just a little bit:  it’s peaceful, and happy, and his eyes gleam in a way that radiates pure contentedness.</p><p> </p><p>After he shoots half the arrows, Clint stops and opens his beer, taking a sip.  He makes a face and sets it back down in favor of picking up the bow again.  “That really is shitty beer,” he says as another arrow sails past Bucky’s face.  There’s no formal target, but Clint is clustering the arrows into a fist-sized spot on the wall.  As Clint is shooting, Bucky walks slowly down to the far end of the barn.  When Clint’s quiver is empty, Bucky pulls the arrows out of the wood and carries them back.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p> </p><p>“You know, I’d sure love to see their faces if you told them who you are.” </p><p> </p><p>Clint fires off six quick shots in favor of answering. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m just saying.  It would be a beautiful thing.  Maybe it’d stop your father from being such a dick to you.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint shoots the rest of the arrows—this time all of them are lined up perfectly in the seam between two boards—and Bucky makes the trek down the barn again.  As he’s handing them back, Clint turns to him and says, “They wouldn’t believe it even if I did.  They have a very fixed image of who I am.  There’s nothing I can say that’s going to change their minds.  Besides, I got over caring what they think about me a long time ago.” </p><p> </p><p>“Really?  ‘Hey, Pop.  You know how you think I’m a security guard.  Well, that’s sorta true.  I work security for the entire Earth.’  You don’t think that would impress them?”</p><p> </p><p>Clint’s jaw is tight and there’s steel in his eyes when he says, “Let it go, Buck.  I told you, they’re not good people, and I don’t trust them.  If they find out, they’ll try to use the information to their own benefit, no matter who they hurt in the process.  And I can take it, but I won’t have them screwing over Natasha, or Bruce, or <em>you</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint pulls and shoots arrows so fast it’s a blur, and when Bucky looks down at the other end of the space, he sees they’re in the shape of a perfect five-pointed star.  Bucky blinks in surprise.  It looks just like the star on his arm, but it’s no doubt actually in deference to the holiday season. </p><p> </p><p>“But Laura knows, right?”  He’s working his way down to fetch the arrows.  “She knew who I was.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, Laura knows.  She figured it out.  We kept in touch after I left.  Sporadically.  Obviously not enough because I would have told her not to marry my fucking brother if I’d known.”  He scowls, then waves off the thought.  “She knew I was using a bow in the circus, then when New York happened, she recognized me from a short clip of video that someone shot.  She left me like, twenty frantic phone messages before I was able to listen to them and call to let her know I was okay.”</p><p> </p><p>The arrows fly, and this time, when Bucky looks, they spell the letters ‘BUCKY’.   He grins, and when Clint smiles back at him, an unfamiliar feeling flips in Bucky’s stomach.  The sense memory of Clint’s mouth on his creeps up on him and he feels his face begin to heat.  He quickly turns and starts down to the other end to retrieve the arrows, taking his time with the task and actively pushing away thoughts of Clint’s tongue.</p><p> </p><p>When he returns, Clint slides the arrows into the quiver and sits down on bale of hay.  He takes a long drink of his beer.  Bucky grabs his own and joins him.</p><p> </p><p>“So, what was Christmas like when you were a kid, do you remember?” Clint asks.</p><p> </p><p>It’s clear he’s looking to change the subject, so Bucky starts to talk, spinning stories about his Ma and Stevie and life in Brooklyn during the 1930s.  It’s not usually something he likes to talk about, to remember everything he’d lost.  But he talks because Clint asked him to, and along the way, he makes Clint laugh a few times, and that’s worth the price of admission right there.</p><p> </p><p>When they finish their beers, Clint looks at his watch.  “They’ll be back soon.  I want to get this stuff put away before they are.”  He gestures at his gear, then stands and offers his hand, pulling Bucky to his feet.</p><p> </p><p>They walk in companionable silence back to the house.  The night is peaceful; it’s finally stopped snowing and the sky is clear with stars shining bright.  It’s beautiful, even, the way the fresh snow lies crisp and pristine, a smooth white blanket on the landscape.  But the cold is bracing—the temperature has dipped into the teens—and by the time they get to the porch and stomp the snow off their boots, Bucky is happy to scurry inside.  Clint cups his hands in front of his mouth and blows on them as they walk through the door, then heads up the stairs to put his gear away. </p><p> </p><p>Bucky goes to the kitchen and turns on the water kettle, then digs through the various boxes of tea he’d spotted earlier and prepares two mugs of peppermint tea.  He takes them back to the living room and kneels down next to the fireplace, stoking the fire that had faded to glowing embers.  He tosses another log on to get it going again, then sits leaning against the side of the couch and looks around.  It’s a comfortable room, awash in the warm glow of multi-colored Christmas tree lights.  Under normal circumstances, Bucky would probably find the whole scene homey and pleasant, but the memories of how Clint’s father and brother treated him are lingering like a bad taste in his mouth.  He pulls a long sip of the steaming tea.</p><p> </p><p>Clint comes back downstairs and sits on the floor against the fireplace-surround, facing Bucky. </p><p> </p><p>“You okay?” Bucky asks, leaning forward to hand Clint his mug. </p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” Clint says, taking it and wrapping both hands around it.  “Just feeling bad that I didn’t have time to get the kids gifts before I came—it was all so last minute.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky taps Clint’s foot with his own.  “Hey, man, I gotcha covered.  You said ‘kids’ in one of your texts, so I grabbed some of the Avengers Legos merchandise from the closet at Stark’s place.  I thought I heard Tony say kids're dying to get their hands on them.  You’ll be the best uncle ever.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint winces.  “Those are prototypes, they haven't been released yet.”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh…Oops?” </p><p> </p><p>Clint huffs and tips his head back against the tiles of the fireplace and looks at Bucky through half-hooded lids.  “Thanks, man, I really owe you one.  Actually, I think I owe you several.”</p><p> </p><p>“Nah.  If anything, I owe you.  I would have been sitting home alone and bored.  I can’t remember when I’ve had more fun.”  He holds his mug out and taps it against Clint’s when he reciprocates.  “Merry Christmas, Clint.”</p><p> </p><p>“Merry Christmas, Buck.  I…I’m glad you’re here.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m glad I’m here, too.”</p><p> </p><p>It looks to Bucky like maybe Clint’s about to say something more, when they both hear a car coming up the drive.  Clint clamps his mouth shut tight and they both scramble to their feet.</p><p> </p><p>“Listen, I started a bedtime story with the kids last night and promised I’d finish it tonight.  The three of them are sleeping in the basement and Laura’s going to sneak their presents under the tree while I keep them distracted.  I’ll see you back up in the room in a little while.  If you want to shower or anything, there are towels in the closet in the hall.”</p><p> </p><p>A shower sounds good to Bucky, if only to wash off the stink of these deplorable people.  As he climbs the stairs, he considers using up all the hot water, but he doesn’t know if Clint or Laura might want to shower, too, so in the end, he doesn’t.  He does take his time in the bathroom, though, just so Barney can’t get in there. </p><p> </p><p>When he gets back to the small room, Bucky pulls a book out of his pack and starts reading.  It’s a big, old farmhouse, the doors creak and the floor groan under every footstep, so he hears Barney make his way to the finally-vacated bathroom.  The walls don’t seem too well insulated because he can hear Harold and Claudette murmuring in their room across the hall when they come upstairs about a half-hour later.  Bucky shifts on the bed to get more comfortable and the bed springs squeak under him.  A truly devious idea comes to him and he grins to himself. </p><p> </p><p>Clint creeps into their shared room about an hour later. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ve been waiting for you,” Bucky says, much louder than is necessary in the small space.</p><p> </p><p>Clint stops where he is in the open doorway and cocks his head.  “Sorry,” he says, just above a whisper, and then quietly closes the door.  “The kids were pretty wound up.  It took a while to get them to settle in.”</p><p> </p><p>“Come ‘ere, Baby, I wanna see that pretty mouth of yours again.”  Bucky bounces pointedly on the bed a few times, and the springs make a racket.  He quirks an eyebrow at Clint.</p><p> </p><p>Clint’s eyes light up.  “Oh, you are a <em>bad </em>man,” he mouths.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?” Bucky says, grinning.</p><p> </p><p>Clint sits in the chair and waves him on, all the while smothering a laugh.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky smiles wide and starts to slowly shifts his weight back and forth on the bed.  ‘Cree-cree, cree-cree, cree-cree’.  He gradually speeds up, grabbing the headboard with one hand to balance as he works into a good steady rhythm.  He lets loose with a long, low moan and Clint practically chokes. </p><p> </p><p>“Oooohhhh, God, yeah.  Yeah, come on Baby, give it to me,” he moans lasciviously.  “Gimme that big dick.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint leans forward with his elbows on his knees, watching Bucky intently while covering his mouth with both hands.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, Baby, I want you to fuck me so bad.  I been waitin’ all day for this.  Yeah, yeah, that’s it…”  He keeps bouncing on the bed with the springs providing musical accompaniment.  Clint has a look of pure amusement on his face.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky decides that this is not going to be a quick fuck; by the end of the night, if nothing else, Harold and Barney are going to believe that Clint’s got staying power in bed.  He slows the pace of bouncing a little, but keeps up the noises.  He closes his eyes and lets his imagination run wild, words bubbling out of his mouth without thought.  He loses himself in the game and his mind starts to wander, to picture Clint’s hand on his cock, to feel his mouth back on Bucky’s like it had been in the kitchen earlier.  “Oooh, fuuuuuck, you know just how to touch me,” Bucky pants.  “Don’t stop, Baby, please don’t stop.  Uh…uh…uh…uh.”  He punches out a moan with every bounce of the bed.</p><p> </p><p>The fantasy is fueled by the small amount of friction that the bounce-action causes, and Bucky comes to the slow realization that he’s half-hard and is likely to be fully hard soon, which might be somewhat awkward.  He cracks his eyes open a fraction to check if Clint has noticed. </p><p> </p><p>Clint is sitting back in the chair now, and he’s watching Bucky with a heated intensity.  When he notices Bucky looking at him, he stands with purpose and takes a slow step over to the bed, an expression of smoldering intent on his face. </p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s breath hitches and he loses his rhythm, the bed springs squeak erratically for a few second and then Bucky stops altogether.  Clint kneels down and presses his mouth to Bucky’s neck, slowly licking his way upward.  Bucky’s sucks in a sharp breath.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t stop,” Clint gusts quietly in his ear.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky starts moving on the bed again, and Clint starts laving Bucky’s ear, tonguing the shell, sucking on the lobe.  Clint stops his tongue long enough to ask, “This okay?”  When Bucky manages to nod, he goes back to lightly licking, tracing the contours of the cartilage.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, <em>fuck</em>.  Ye—yeah, it g-good,” he manages.  “Oh god, oh god, yeah…”  His words have become more breathy as they become a real reaction.  “Aah!” Bucky practically yells when Clint cups his hand over Bucky’s growing erection, rubbing gently.  The bed squeaks hard as Bucky jolts but any words get stuck in his throat.</p><p> </p><p>“Aw, come on, Baby, don’t stop,” Clint murmurs so only Bucky can hear, then lightly nips Bucky’s jaw.  “Let ‘em hear you.” </p><p> </p><p>Bucky shivers hard and swallows, but before he can begin his litany again, Clint’s mouth is on his and all coherent thought goes out the window.  They kiss for long moments while Clint rubs him through the flannel sleep-pants he’s wearing.  Occasionally, Bucky remembers to keep bouncing on the bed for their audience.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky chases Clint’s mouth with a disgruntled sound when Clint pulls away a few minutes later.  But when Clint ducks down and starts mouthing at Bucky’s now fully-hard cock through the thin material, Bucky stops his complaint.  His precome had already soaked through a small spot on the pants and Bucky’s hips reflexively buck when Clint puts his mouth there and sucks at it, licking at Bucky’s cock through the pants and soaking the material even more. </p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s never been overly vocal in bed, so he keeps forgetting to make noise.  But when Clint locks eyes with him at the same moment that he scrapes his teeth lightly over the saturated cotton covering Bucky’s cock, Bucky yells.  “Aaahh, Fuuccckk!”</p><p> </p><p>Clint sits back then and tugs on the sleep pants.  Bucky immediately lifts his hips and pushes the ruined material down past his knees.  His cock springs free and bounces up and down a couple of times.  Clint makes a show of spitting into his hand, then he grabs Bucky’s cock and starts long, solid strokes, up and down.  Bucky hisses—then remembers to moan—and his hips flex, the bed making crazy sounds.   </p><p> </p><p>“Lie back and grab the headboard with both hands,” Clint says, a soft rumble that goes straight to Bucky’s cock.  It twitches and a bead of pre-come appears.  Clint swipes his thumb over it, rubbing it around the head of Bucky’s cock.  Bucky does as he’s told, moving to lie prone and latching onto the slats of the headboard.  “Good boy,” Clint murmurs low and heated, and Bucky whimpers.  He had no idea until this second that he might like being ordered around in bed. </p><p> </p><p>Clint smiles and leans in, kissing his way from Bucky’s ear down his jaw to his neck.  It’s wet and hot and every now and then he feels the rough scrape of teeth that makes him shiver and his hips judder.  He nuzzles behind Bucky’s ear a little, then whispers, “I’m just gonna hold on, and you do what feels good.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky does just that.  He closes his eyes and fucks Clint’s hand.  It’s rough and calloused, not unlike Bucky’s own hand, but somehow it feels so much better.  He starts slow, working the bed springs into a steady rhythm.  Cree-cree, cree-cree, cree-cree, cree-cree.  </p><p> </p><p>“Come on, Buck,” Clint growls in his ear, “let ‘em hear you.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky lets loose with a lascivious moan and picks up the pace, fucking faster into Clint’s fist.  Its feels amazing but he just needs…</p><p> </p><p>“Harder,” he chokes out, then remembers and yells.  “<em>Harder!</em>  Come on, fuck me harder!”  Clint obliges by tightening his fist.  “<em>Fuck!</em>  Yeah, that’s it, oh, <em>fuck!</em>”  The bed springs screech nonstop, a frenzied chorus that is quickly joined by the percussion of the headboard knocking rhythmically against the wall. </p><p> </p><p>Bucky thrusts harder and faster into Clint’s fist, building to a feverish pace.  “Oh fuck, oh fuck, I’m gonna come.  Don’t stop, I’m gonna come, come on give it to me, harder, come on, oh yeah, oh god oh god oh god, I’m coming!  Aaaaahhhhhhh!   <em>Fuck!</em>”  His body jerks and he comes, long lines of semen painting his chest and stomach.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s chest heaves and black spots flicker at the edge of his vision as he pants through the aftershocks, the bed squeaking erratically now as his hips lose their coordination.  “Oh, fuck, oh fuck,” he slurs, his mouth curving into a smile.  Clint looks on, smirking, and even in the dark room, he can see that Clint’s pupils are dilated, shot through with black and only the thinnest ring of blue. </p><p> </p><p>As soon as his limbs stop tingling, Bucky sits up and twists, dropping his feet over the side of the bed.  Clint is looking at him with uncertainty and all Bucky can think about is wiping that expression off his face.  He makes a point of looking at the bulge in Clint’s pants, then back at Clint.  He raises both eyebrows in question.</p><p> </p><p>The second Clint gives him a jerky nod and stands, Bucky tugs Clint’s sweatpants down and gets his hand on his thick cock.  Clint hisses, but otherwise is still and quiet.   Bucky pumps Clint’s cock a couple times, then leans in and takes Clint into his mouth.  It’s been a while since he’s done this, but once he gets going, it comes back to him just fine.  Clint makes small, eager noises and his hands land softly on Bucky’s head.  He doesn’t get forceful, just leaves them there, absently carding his fingers in Bucky’s hair. </p><p> </p><p>Unlike Bucky’s performance, Clint’s being completely quiet, except for a small gasp now and then when Bucky puts his tongue to extra use.  It’s been too long for him to try deep throating, but he grips the base of Clint’s cock and pumps and twists as he bobs his head in and out.  It’s not long before Clint’s breathing grows uneven and his hips start to move, but just a little, like he’s trying not to but he can’t stop himself. </p><p> </p><p>“Buck,” Clint gasps, then abruptly pulls himself out of Bucky’s mouth.  He comes, catching his ejaculate in his hand so it doesn’t splash on Bucky’s face.  He stumbles backward and collapses into the chair and Bucky falls backward onto the bed.  He sees Clint snag a t-shirt from his pack and wipe his hand off. </p><p> </p><p>Neither of them moves for a long moment while they both catch their breath.  The sweat on Bucky’s body starts to dry and cool and he’s reminded just how cold the room really is. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, come ‘ere,” Bucky says.  He strips off his damp and sticky clothes and works his way under the blankets.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay,” Clint answers.  “I told you, I don’t mind sleeping in the chair.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky gives him a <em>look</em>.  “Clint,” he says.  “It’s freezing in here.  Come on, strip down and get in the bed so we can keep each other warm.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint hesitates, but then stands, shucks his shirt and sweats, and steps over to the bed.  Bucky lifts the bedding, and Clint slips beneath it.  It’s a very tight fit—two gown men in a single bed—so Bucky wraps his arms around Clint and pulls him close, scissoring their legs together.  Clint settles into it, tucking his face into Bucky’s neck. </p><p> </p><p>They’re both quiet for several minutes and Bucky’s starting to drift off, when Clint says, “Why’d you really come, Buck?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky breathes in and out a couple of times, then admits to Clint what he’d been denying to himself.  “I came because I wanted to be with you.”</p><p> </p><p>He feels Clint smile against his neck, then feels warm lips work their way up and over his jaw, and nudge at Bucky’s mouth.  The kiss is soft and sweet and nothing like he ever would have expected from Barton.  They subside and Clint tucks his face back into Bucky’s neck. </p><p> </p><p>“That was some pretty good acting, Romeo,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?  Wasn’t all acting, it case it wasn’t obvious.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint huffs.  “Either way, I can promise they hated every second of it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good, ‘cause I hate the way they treat you,” Bucky says quietly. </p><p> </p><p>Clint sighs.  “I doesn’t matter, Buck.  Nothing they do matters.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky frowns into the dark.  “How do you do it?  How do you let it all just roll off of you the way you do?  Don’t you hate them?”</p><p> </p><p>Clint doesn’t say anything for a long moment and Bucky starts to think that the questions have pissed him off.  But then Clint shifts a little, pulling back to settle his head on the pillow to better look Bucky in the eyes.  “You know,” he says softly, “sometimes the opposite of love isn’t hatred—those can be two sides of the same coin.  The opposite of love can be indifference.  I don’t hate them, Bucky, I’m indifferent to them, and honestly, I try not to give things I’m indifferent to any more mental energy than they deserve.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky thinks about that, turns it around in his head.  He’d never thought of it that way, but there’s logic to it.  It also slots some things into place for him.  He’d been reading Clint’s reactions to his family as him shutting down emotionally, practically dissociating; it’s a relief to know that it’s just insouciance. </p><p> </p><p>“And, in case it wasn't obvious,” Clint adds softly, “I’m not indifferent to you, Buck.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky leans forward and presses his mouth to Clint’s and they tumble into more gentle kissing, lush swipes of tongue that aren’t meant to go anywhere, but inevitably do.    </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. December 25</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay, so this was supposed to be done waaaay sooner.  But then I got sick (not covid), then my kid got sick (covid), and then, in case you didn’t hear, some shit went down in DC and tbh, I've been more or less glued to CNN instead of writing.</p><p>Anyway, no beta on this chapter either.  If you see anything glaring, feel free to point it out.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">December 25<sup>th</sup> </span>
</p><p> </p><p>Bucky wakes up to Clint untangling himself.  </p><p> </p><p>“Where’re you going?” he asks sleepily, as Clint slips out of the tiny bed.  It’s cold in the room but the bed has been warm and comfortable with Clint burrowed in next to him; he misses Clint’s warmth immediately. </p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, go back to sleep,” Clint whispers.</p><p> </p><p>It’s still dark outside.  Bucky squints at his phone.  “It’s 5:05 am.”  They’d only been asleep a couple of hours. </p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Clint whispers again.  “I hear Laura and the kids downstairs.  It’s been a while, but I remember how pissed off Harold gets when kids wake him up.  I’m gonna go help Laura corral hers until everyone else is up.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Bucky says softly, and Clint turns.  “You sure you’re not still hung up on Laura?”</p><p> </p><p>Clint’s expression is inscrutable as he walks back to the bed.  He leans over Bucky, bracing himself on the side rails and just <em>looks</em> at him for a few seconds.  Then he dips his head in to kiss him.  It’s soft and sweet, until Clint cants his head for a better angle, slotting their mouths together more perfectly.  Bucky lets out a small groan and deepens the kiss some more, reaching up to hold the back of Clint’s neck and keep him where he is.  After several seconds, Clint huffs into his mouth and pulls back.  Bucky lets go reluctantly.</p><p> </p><p>“That answer your question?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky snorts softly then yawns.  “Want me to come?”</p><p> </p><p>Clint gives him a tired smile.  “Get some more sleep.  The others won’t be up for a while but once they are, all hell’s probably going to break loose down there.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky knows he’s talking about the kids and the presents that Santa left under the tree, but he’s thinking about the performance they put on just a few hours ago and wondering how the other Bartons are going to react.  He’s kind of looking forward to that, actually.</p><p> </p><p>Clint ducks in for another quick kiss before crossing to the door.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Clint?  Merry Christmas.”</p><p> </p><p>He can barely make out Clint’s smile in the dark room, but it’s there.  “Merry Christmas, Buck,” he says, then eases out the door.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Bucky dozes for couple more hours and wakes to footsteps in the hall as the others on the second floor begin to stir.  He stays where he is, warm enough, and comfortable, and running the last night over in his head.</p><p> </p><p>After their performance, they’d wrapped themselves around each other and talked deep into the night, quietly, for their ears only.  Words were interspersed with more kissing, which led to fucking again, this time slow and nearly silent, warm bodies grinding against each other until they were gasping into each other’s necks.  He smiles at the memory as his fingertips scrape at the flakey, dried come on his belly.  His cock stirs but he ignores it, less interested without Clint in the bed with him.</p><p> </p><p>He hadn’t come to Iowa with any hope or even <em>thought</em> of this happening.  He hadn’t ever even admitted to himself that his was something he wanted.  Since the first time his jaw had dropped as he watched Barton shoot with his bow, it had been this vague, unformed thing in the back of his mind, always there, but never scrutinized. </p><p> </p><p>Merry Christmas, he thinks to himself, grinning into the half-light of the winter morning.  </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He finally drags himself out of bed when he hears the noise from downstairs picking up.  When he pads down the stairs in jeans and a henley, he finds Clint under a pile of kids on the couch, reading to them.  He stops on the stairs, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms, just watching. </p><p> </p><p>The kids are completely enraptured in whatever it is Clint is reading, even Cooper.  Clint is a million times more animated than Bucky’s seen him since arriving in Iowa; he’s glimpsing the performer in him, he thinks.  As he turns the next page, he glances up at Bucky and winks.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky watches them for a few more moments, then sets a different kind of smile on his face and heads for the kitchen.  The others are all there:  Harold and Barney sitting at the table, Laura and Claudette busily preparing breakfast.  Three of them stiffen at his arrival and the atmosphere in the room turns icy.</p><p> </p><p>“Man, I need some coffee.”  He grabs a mug and pours the last of the pot.  “Was a long night, if you know what I mean.”  He winks and reaches down to cup himself suggestively.</p><p> </p><p>Harold’s face looks like it’s carved from granite when he says, “Now the men of Sodom were wicked, great sinners against the Lord.  Genesis, 13:13.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky stops and cocks his head.  “You surprise me, Harry,” he says, taking a step to clap his hand on the man’s shoulder.  “I really thought you’d go with Leviticus, 20:13.  ‘If a man lies with a man as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them’.”  Why Hydra felt it was important to program the entire Christian bible, the Torah, and the Koran, into Bucky’s head, he’ll never understand, but for the first time, he actually finds it useful, even if he doesn’t believe any of it.</p><p> </p><p>“Get your filthy hand off of me,” Harold says, pushing Bucky away.  Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Laura smile as she turns her back to hide it from the others.  “The only reason I don’t physically throw you out of this house right this minute is because I don’t want to ruin my grandchildren’s Christmas.”</p><p> </p><p>Standing above the man, Bucky morphs his expression into something wolfish.  “I’d really like to see you try that, Harold.  I really would.”</p><p> </p><p>Harold’s face is red with anger, the room is still and crackling with tension.  It’s feels to Bucky that they are on a very narrow precipice that could easily tip over into violence. </p><p> </p><p>“An abomination,” Claudette mutters behind him. </p><p> </p><p>Bucky lets out a bright bark of laughter and steps away from Harold, dissipating some of the tension.  “Oh, hey, this looks good.”  There’s some sort of pastry in the middle of the table—a thin oval with icing and slivered almonds on top.  It’s obviously waiting for everyone to sit down to breakfast, but Bucky grabs a knife and cuts a four-inch-wide piece and shoves it all into his mouth before anyone can stop him.  “Oh, man, this is really good,” he says, but he thinks it’s probably hardly intelligible.  It really is good.  He’ll have to find out what it is.</p><p> </p><p>Claudette makes an indignant sound, and her face turns hard.  “You’re an animal,” she says and storms out of the room. </p><p> </p><p>Bucky just shrugs and cuts himself another slice.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re disgusting,” Barney sneers.  “You and my so-called brother.  It was sickening, listening to your filthy, unnatural…sex.” </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it there, Barney.  I bet if your pretty wife over there got herself a nice thick strap-on, you’d change your tune.”  He cuts his eyes over to Laura for a split second and is relieved to see she’s smothering a laugh.  “A big dick up your ass might be just what you need to loosen up a little, maybe find a new religion.”</p><p> </p><p>Barney stands up and his hands are balled into fists at his side.  Bucky’s pretty sure he’s about to come at him when Nate runs into the room. </p><p> </p><p>“Mommy!  Everyone is up now.  Can we open presents?  Please, can we?”</p><p> </p><p>“We sure can,” she says, her eyes moving across everyone, then landing on Bucky.  “Come and join us, James.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky shoves the last of the pastry into his mouth, grabs his coffee cup, and follows Laura into the living room.  Clint is still there, but he’s sitting on the stairs now.  Possibly to stay out of the potential fray, but more likely to stay far from his father and brother.  Bucky ambles over and sits next to him.  It’s a bit of a tight squeeze, but truthfully, he doesn’t mind being pressed up against Clint. </p><p> </p><p>Clint turns to look at him.  “They quote scripture?” he asks quietly, the corners of his mouth bending upward.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Yep.  Harold threw Genesis at me.  I one-upped him with Leviticus.” </p><p> </p><p>Clint smirks.  “How’d he take it?”  Bucky loves the spark he sees in Clint’s eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Better than Barney when I suggested Laura get a strap-on.”</p><p> </p><p>The blue of Clint’s eyes is full-on sparkling now.  “You didn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, hell yeah, I did.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh man, I love you,” Clint says, then leans in to plant a juicy kiss on him.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky insides flutter.  He knows Clint didn’t mean it <em>that</em> way, but still. </p><p> </p><p>There’s a squeal from across the room as Lila pulls the paper off of box.  Bucky can’t tell what it is, but there’s lots of pink on the box and there seem to be little creatures of some sort.  Cooper gets excited about some sort of video game console, and as far as Bucky can tell, Nate is just ripping the paper off of gifts and then moving on to the next before he can even register what it is. </p><p> </p><p>Once all the rest of the gifts from Santa are opened, Laura digs behind the tree and comes out with three gifts that they had wrapped the evening before.  “Hey kids, these are from your Uncle Clint and Bucky,” she glances at the two of them on the stairs. She hands them each one.  “What do you say?”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Uncle Clint,” they all chirp in unison and tear open their packages to find Avengers Lego sets—the huge kind with a couple thousand pieces. </p><p> </p><p>It occurs to Bucky for the first time that they’re maybe not entirely age-appropriate for the two little ones.  Oh well, they all have the full compliment of little Lego Avengers—the original six, anyway—so if nothing else, Lila and Nate can just play with those.  Bucky really, really wants to see them play with the little Hawkeyes, with their little bows and arrows. </p><p> </p><p>Cooper gasps and looks their way.  “These are like, not even out yet.  How did you get them?” he asks excitedly.</p><p> </p><p>Clint gives Bucky a pointed look. </p><p> </p><p>“Your uncle has friends in high places,” Bucky says.</p><p> </p><p>Nearby, Barney scoffs.  “Probably stole ‘em,” he mutters.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s really had enough of this asshole saying shit about Clint in front of the kids.  He stands up.</p><p> </p><p>Clint’s hand is immediately on his arm.  “Bucky,” he murmurs, giving his forearm a light squeeze.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky has just turned toward Clint to plead with him to let him punch his brother when there’s a knock on the door. </p><p> </p><p>Everyone freezes in surprise for a split second, since with all the excited noise in the room, no one has heard anyone coming.  Claudette scurries to open the door.  “Allen,” she says to the man on the porch, stepping aside and letting him in. </p><p> </p><p>He’s an older man, gone mostly grey, and he’s wearing a uniform and a badge.  “Merry Christmas, Claudette, Harold,” he says, taking off his hat as he enters the house.  “Barney.”</p><p> </p><p>Beside him, Clint stands as Claudette ushers the man in and Harold crosses the room to them.  The kids have gone quiet, watching with curiosity.</p><p> </p><p>“What can we do for you, Al?” Harold asks.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry to interrupt your morning, Harold,” the man says, “but do you by any chance a guest staying here with you?”  He scans the room, and his eyes fall of the two of them near the stairs.  “Oh, yes, I see you do.”  He’s looking at them with considerable interest.  “Hello.”</p><p> </p><p>“Allen, I’m not sure you’d remember my younger son, Clint…” </p><p> </p><p>It’s not Bucky’s imagination that he says it with some distaste.</p><p> </p><p>The sheriff cocks his head.  “Well I’ll be damned.  It’s been a long time.  You’ve grown a bit since I saw you last.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sheriff,” Clint says politely, nodding his head once with a tight smile.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s good to see you, Clint.  What’ve you been up to all this time?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, you know.  A little of this a little of that,” he says.  His body is loose and his expression is friendly, but Bucky can read the way Clint’s gone into a heightened state of watchfulness. </p><p> </p><p>“Who’s your friend?” he asks, eyeing Bucky.</p><p> </p><p>Clint gestures toward Bucky.  “This is James.” </p><p> </p><p>“Sheriff,” Bucky says.</p><p> </p><p>“Is there something we can help you with, Allen?” Barney asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Well now, I don’t know,” he says, facing Barney and Harold where they stand next to each other.  “Sal called me from the airport.  He said some crazy person put a luxury jet down in the middle of the snowstorm yesterday against explicit instructions not to try to land.  Said a dark-haired fella got out and walked down the road.  Loreen across the way said she saw a dark-haired fella walk up your driveway yesterday.”  He turns fully toward Bucky, eyes narrowed and assessing.  “That woulda been you, I suppose.”</p><p> </p><p>Jeez.  Small towns.  “Yeah, sorry about that, Sheriff.”  Bucky brings out his winningest smile.  “I had an engine light flashing, and I was concerned.  Thought I better get on the ground as soon as possible.  But, no harm, no foul, right?”</p><p> </p><p>The sheriff is still considering him, and after a beat says, “The thing is, Sal got curious and he did some digging.  Called me this morning.  It seems the plane belongs to one Anthony Edward Stark.”</p><p> </p><p>Shit.</p><p> </p><p>The room is quiet for second before Barney says, “You mean <em>Tony </em>Stark?  As in, <em>Iron Man</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“The very same one.  We’ve got verification from the FAA.  The plane belongs to Tony Stark.  But Sal says that the guy who landed the plane and walked this way was not Mr. Stark.”</p><p> </p><p>“I should say not,” Claudette pipes up.  “Why on earth would he be here?”</p><p> </p><p>Oh, shit, oh shit…</p><p> </p><p>In his periphery, Clint is calm, but in that ‘still waters’ kind of way.  “I didn’t steal the plane,” Bucky says, his brain in a mad scramble trying to figure out how to divert the conversation away from anything Avengers-related.  “I borrowed it.  With permission.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re saying that Tony Stark gave you permission to borrow his own personal luxury jet?” the sheriff asks, clearly not believing him.</p><p> </p><p>Harold and Barney scoff simultaneously, identical ugly sounds that cause the tiniest flinch in Clint.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I mean, he’s got a few and he and Pepper only needed the one.”</p><p> </p><p>The sheriff doesn’t appear amused.  “I’d like to see some ID please.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky casts a glance at Clint who nods.  Resigned, he digs his wallet out of his pocket and hands his licenses to the sheriff.  Beside him, he can tell that Clint’s working all the angles in his head, too, trying to figure out how to get out of this cleanly. </p><p> </p><p>“James Buchanan Barnes,” the sheriff reads.</p><p> </p><p>Both Harold and Barney shoot Clint a look.</p><p> </p><p>“Now why does that sound familiar?” the Sheriff says, mostly to himself, glancing back and forth between Bucky and the ID in his hand.  Bucky’s hair is cut short now; unfortunately, the photo was taken the year before, when it was still shaggy and long.  It had made him much more recognizable, which was largely the reason he’d cut it a few months back.</p><p> </p><p>Barney glares at Clint.  “You said his name was James Buchanan,” he says accusatorily.  He shifts his glare to Bucky.  “Who the hell are you?” </p><p> </p><p>“I think you’re going to need to come with me,” the sheriff says over him. </p><p> </p><p>“Am I under arrest?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, now, you can be, if that’s the way you want to play things,” the sheriff says in a slow drawl.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky puts his hands up placatingly.  “No, no.”  He flashes a friendly smile at the sheriff.  “I’m not going to cause any trouble, Sheriff.  I’m happy to come with you.  No problem.”  He turns to Clint.  “I’m really sorry about this.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint ignores him—doesn’t even look at him—and pulls out his phone.  “Hang on a minute, Sheriff.”</p><p> </p><p>That can’t be going anyplace good.  “Clint, it’s no big deal.  I’ll go with him.  We’ll get it straightened out.  You stay out of it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Bucky, I’m not going to let you be arrested on Christmas for something you didn’t do.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, now his name is <em>Bucky?</em>” Harold says.</p><p> </p><p>“Not surprised your <em>boyfriend’s</em> a thief,” Barney adds. </p><p> </p><p>Bucky ignores them.  “We’ll get it straightened out,” he says to Clint, then lower, “You know we will.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sheriff,” Clint bulldozes ahead.  “What if we get Tony Stark on the phone and he confirms that he gave permission?”</p><p> </p><p>“Clint, don’t,” Bucky hisses. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, please.  As if you know Tony Stark,” Barney jeers.  “Al, take him away.  Take my worthless brother with him, while you’re at it.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky doesn’t even care that the sheriff is standing right there, he’d punch Barney’s teeth right through the back of his skull if the three kids weren’t watching everything that’s going on with wide, nervous eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Clint is pulling up the contacts on his phone and Bucky reaches over to maybe take it away, but Clint literally stiff-arms him.  Bucky sighs in defeat; it’s not like he’s going to start fighting Clint in front of these assholes.  He sees Clint tap the contact that says TS.  Video feed comes on almost instantly—Tony must have his phone set to answer calls from Avengers immediately, or something—and Tony can be seen, sitting in what looks like a beach cabana, hair disheveled, sunglasses on.</p><p> </p><p>“There better be a full-blown alien invasion happening for you to be calling me on Christmas, Barton.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint rubs the back of his neck.  “Hey Tony, yeah, I’m sorry about this.  There’s no invasion, but we’ve got a little bit of a situation.”</p><p> </p><p>“In…” he squints at his phone, “…Iowa?  What the hell are you doing in Iowa?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m with my family,” he grinds out, then before Tony can respond to that, he says, “Listen Bucky borrowed one of your planes to fly out here and the local sheriff thinks he stole it.  Can you let him know that it’s okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Tony’s eyebrow quirks up and a sly smile spreads on his face.  “Yeah?  What’s it worth to you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Tony,” Clint says, low and exasperated, but with an air of obvious fondness.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a pause and then Tony’s face shifts to more serious.  “Barton, is everything alright?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’ll be fine, Tony, if you just give the sheriff here the all-clear.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, alright.  Lemme see him.”  Clint turns the phone toward the Sheriff and the others crane their necks to see as well.  “Hey, Sheriff, can you hear me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ye-es,” he says, looking around at the other faces in the room.</p><p> </p><p>“Good.  You can let Barnes go, alright.  He had my permission to use my jet.”</p><p> </p><p>“Give me a fucking break,” Barney snarls.  “He doesn’t know Tony Stark.  That’s just some impersonator.  Al, just take ‘em.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky glares at Barney and Harold.  “Oh, right, because he had a Tony Stark impersonator on standby just in case?” Bucky says.</p><p> </p><p>There’s an audible sigh heard through the speaker.  “Barton, what the hell is going on?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry Tony—”</p><p> </p><p>“Clint, stop.  You don’t need to do this,” Bucky says, low and pleading.</p><p> </p><p>Tony grunts.  “You two are killin’ me,” he says.  “I’ll be there in five.”</p><p> </p><p>“Tony, no—” Bucky tries, but his face has already disappeared from the screen.</p><p> </p><p>Clint tucks his phone back in his pocket, his face an impenetrable mask.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s going on?” Harold asks.  “Who the hell was that?”</p><p> </p><p>“What are you, blind?  That was Tony Stark,” Bucky answers.</p><p> </p><p>“Bullshit you know Tony Stark,” Barney spits.  “Sheriff, take this piece of trash and my lying brother out of here already.”</p><p> </p><p>But the sheriff is looking bemused.  “It did look like Tony Stark.”  He turns and looks at Bucky intently.  “And, come to think of it, you look familiar, too,” he says slowly.  He looks down at the license in his hand.  “James Buchanan Barnes…”  he says slowly.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky winces internally as the sheriff seems to get closer to putting the pieces together.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous,” Harold jeers.  “This is all some sort of ploy to—"</p><p> </p><p>A lot of confused questions and yelling follow, and after a few minutes of that, Bucky has a sinking feeling in his guy when he registers the familiar sound of the Mark 45 suit approaching.  Clint does too, based on how he cocks his head and looks toward the door. </p><p> </p><p>Everyone shuts up and heads turn at the sudden thump on the porch, followed by loud footsteps.  The doorbell rings.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll get it!” Nate yells and runs to the door.  When he opens it, his eyes go wide, and he slams it shut.  “Iron Man is on the porch!” he yells.</p><p> </p><p>Laura steps up next to him.  “Well, let him in, Sweetheart.”</p><p> </p><p>Nate yanks the door open again. </p><p> </p><p>Tony clomps into the room, the Iron Man suit whirring and faceplate retracting.  “Hawkeye, what the hell?” Tony says, looking around the room.  “Oh, wow.  You have got to be a bunch of Bartons,” he says. When his eyes fall on the kids who are all gaping at him, he jerks in surprise.  “Holy shit.  What the hell Clint, you have some secret family you didn’t tell us about?”</p><p> </p><p>Clint sighs.  “No Tony, they’re my niece and nephews.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?”  He turns and bends down on one knee next to Lila who’s clutching all of the mini–Avenger Lego figures.  “Oh hey, impossible to get Avengers merch.  Did Santa bring that to you, sweetie?” </p><p> </p><p>“No, Uncle Clint did.”</p><p> </p><p>“See, that’s really interesting, because the only place to get that would be the storage room at the Tower.  Now I wonder how that happened.”  He looks pointedly at Clint.</p><p> </p><p>“I took them, Tony,” Bucky confesses.  “I didn’t know they weren’t on the market yet.  Sorry,” he adds.  He’s not really sorry because the kids obviously love them, but he feels like he has to say it, the way Tony’s eyeing him.</p><p> </p><p>Tony looks at Cooper who had already started to assemble his helicarrier.  “Hey, big kid, who’s your favorite Avenger?”</p><p> </p><p>Cooper hesitates, then guiltily holds up the Captain America Lego figure.  Tony rolls his eyes.  “Figures,” he mutters.  The suit whirs and he turns toward Nate.  “What about you, shortstuff?”  He focuses on the little boy, who shows him his Black Widow.  “Ah, well, at least you’ve got some good taste there.”</p><p> </p><p>Next to Bucky, Clint is holding himself taut and completely still. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t let me down, beautiful,” Tony says, turning to Lila.</p><p> </p><p>She looks down at the pile of toys in her small hands and sifts through them, pulling out a small green figure.  “Hulk!”  She grins up at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Wow,” Tony says, pressing a gauntlet to the glowing arc reactor on the chest of his suit.  “Break my heart, whydontcha.  Not to mention your uncle’s.  You hear that, Hawkeye?  You’re not even her favorite.”</p><p> </p><p>“Tony,” Clint says, tense as his bowstring. </p><p> </p><p>He glances toward them.  “What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Tony, they don’t—” Clint grits out, but Tony’s not listening.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, seriously…I’m curious now.  How come Hawkeye isn’t your favorite?” he asks Nate.</p><p> </p><p>“He doesn’t have any powers?” the little boy offers.</p><p> </p><p>Tony flashes the briefest glance at them.  “Yeah, but, he doesn’t need any, right?  I mean, the rest of us, we’ve got powers, or help from a suit, but Hawkeye, he keeps up with us anyway.  If you think about it, that kind of makes him the super-est superhero, right?” </p><p> </p><p>Nate nods back at Iron Man with a serious expression, and Bucky feels a wave of appreciation toward Tony.  The guy can be full of bluff and bluster but he kinda wants to kiss him right now for saying that.</p><p> </p><p>Tony stands up and turns toward Clint and Bucky.  “What they hell, Barton.  These kids swim in your gene pool, how do they not know that you’re Hawkeye?”</p><p> </p><p>Cooper has picked up his Hawkeye figure and is examining it, looking between it and over in their direction.  “Uncle Clint?” Cooper says.  “Are you a hero?”  There’s awe in his voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, Cooper,” Harold snaps and beside Bucky, Clint flinches.  “He’s no goddamned hero.”</p><p> </p><p>“This is ridiculous,” Barney says.  “That’s not Iron Man.  He’s just some guy in a cheap costume.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you…have some kind of ID on you?” the sheriff asks Tony, clearly uncomfortable asking the question.</p><p> </p><p>He turns to the sheriff and blinks.  “Uhh… Did you miss the part where I flew here in my suit?”</p><p> </p><p>“We didn’t see that,” Barney says smugly.  “All we see is a guy in a cheap costume pretending to be Iron Man feeding us all a whole lot of bullshit.”</p><p> </p><p>“A cheap—” He looks at Clint and Bucky.  “Is this guy for real?”</p><p> </p><p>“Al, you’re not buying this, are you?” Harold says.  “There is no way on God’s green earth that my piece-of-garbage son is friends with Tony Stark.  Get this guy outta here.”</p><p> </p><p>Tony’s mild expression turns hard as granite and he takes a step toward Harold.  “Your piece of—”</p><p> </p><p>“Tony, leave it,” Clint interjects, and Tony stops, looking over. “Please,” he adds quietly and gives the tiniest head tip toward the kids who are all watching closely and starting to show varied amounts of stress. </p><p> </p><p>Tony’s sharp gaze shifts over to the kids and then back to Harold, assessing.  He mutters something Bucky can’t quite pick up, then looks at the room at-large.  “Alright, look, I gotta be back on the island in about eight minutes or Pep’s going to have my ass in a sling, so…”  He clomps over to the door and opens it, then over his shoulder says, “I’ll be right back.”  As soon as he steps onto the porch, he takes off with a whoosh, does a quick circuit around the barn and is back on the porch in about four seconds. </p><p> </p><p>The visor retracts as he steps across the threshold again and spreads his hands.  “Okay?”</p><p> </p><p>The sheriff, who’s grinning broadly, says, “Yes.  Yes, sir, Mr. Stark.  It’s an honor to meet you, Sir.” </p><p> </p><p>“Whatever.”  He waves the man off.  “Are we done here?”</p><p> </p><p>The sheriff clears his throat.  “Um, so, just to confirm, you gave permission for this gentleman,” he gestures at Bucky, “to use your plane?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, yeah.  Sergeant Barnes there had my permission, yadda, yadda, yadda.”  He twirls his hand.</p><p> </p><p>The sheriff snaps his fingers and looks at Bucky.  “That’s it!  Sergeant Bucky Barnes!”  He’s looking starry-eyed between him and Tony now.  “You really are Avengers!”  He turns toward Clint.  “And Waverly’s own Clint Barton is Hawkeye?”  He sounds surprised, but very excited.</p><p> </p><p>Harold and Barney are red-faced, sputtering mindless words of denial and disbelief.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Barton,” Tony calls and everyone in the room perks up.  He rolls his eyes.  “I meant the one I know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?”  Clint wipes a hand down his face.  He looks and sounds exhausted, even though it’s only 9:00am.</p><p> </p><p>“A word?”  Tony gestures with his head to indicate outside.</p><p> </p><p>Clint nods and heads across the room, following Stark out the door. </p><p> </p><p>Bucky goes too—shoving his feet into his boots by the door—because he figures Stark won’t care and despite his assigned role here, he’s not sure he can stand another minute in the room with these people.  With the door closed firmly behind them, they step down from the porch into the yard and Tony turns serious eyes on Clint.</p><p> </p><p>“Everything okay here, Clint?  For real?”</p><p> </p><p>Clint blows a loud breath out his nose.  “Everything’s fine, Tony.”</p><p> </p><p>Tony eyes him speculatively for a short moment.  He must decide Clint’s being straight with him because his expression loses some of its intensity.  “Okay.  Listen, when you get back, go ahead and send each of those kids a full-sized Iron Man action figure.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint just snorts.</p><p> </p><p>“And ya know, I guess you could throw in a few Hawkeyes while you’re at it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure, Tony.”  Clint gives him an easy smile, but Bucky’s come to know Clint well enough to know that it’s his ‘now-is-when-people-want-you-to-smile’ smile. </p><p> </p><p>Tony must see it too because his face goes back to serious.  He glances at the closed door over Clint’s shoulder, then back.  “That’s a hell of a blindspot,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>Clint shrugs.  “People see what they want to see,” he repeats his comment from the day before.</p><p> </p><p>Tony narrows his eyes for a second, then says, “You know—” he starts then stops when he sees Clint stiffen.  Instead, he looks over Clint’s shoulder at the house again, then shakes his head a little.  He fixes an intense gaze back on Clint.  “I see something very different.  We all do.”   </p><p> </p><p>There’s a beat before Clint says, “Appreciate you coming up here to square things with the sheriff.  Tell Pepper I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>The two of them stare at each other for a second before Tony blinks and says, “If I’m lucky, she’ll never know I was gone.”  The faceplate flips down.  “But you two owe me a big fat one.” He lifts off and is nothing more than a speck in the sky in seconds.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky has no doubt that Tony will be calling in that chip at the most inconvenient time, like, demanding Bucky go get tacos from Manual’s food truck some morning at 2:00am when he’s working late in his workshop and gets hungry, and Bucky’s already sound asleep.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m gonna take a walk,” Clint says, and starts heading down the driveway.</p><p> </p><p>The sky is blue and the sun is shining, but it’s still cold enough to see your breath.  “Clint,” Bucky calls, but Clint doesn’t stop. </p><p> </p><p>Bucky dashes back up the porch and opens the front door.  There’s a lot of noise—angry voices on one side of the room, excited chatter from the kids on the other—but it stops and everyone looks at him.  He ignores them and grabs both of their coats off the hooks inside the door, then jogs to catch up with Clint.  “Here,” he says, and pushes the coat at the other man.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” Clint answers without looking at Bucky and slips it on, quickly zipping it and shoving his hands into the pockets.  “Thanks,” he says again.</p><p> </p><p>When they get out to the highway, Clint turns left, setting a swift pace.  There are no sidewalks out here in the country, so they walk down the middle of the west-bound lane.  There aren’t any cars, but the road is freshly plowed after the snow the day before; the sheriff isn’t the only one working on Christmas morning. </p><p> </p><p>“You okay?” Bucky asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine,” Clint says, but his jaw is tight.</p><p> </p><p>Clint’s deep in his head so Bucky lets him work through it and they walk down the road in silence.  About a half mile from the house, the sheriff’s 4x4 overtakes them, and he toots the horn and waves with a big, stupid grin on his face.  Bucky gives him a fake smile and a small salute to keep the peace; no sense antagonizing the locals.  Clint doesn’t respond though.  He just tucks his chin against the cold midwestern wind and keeps trodding silently up the highway. </p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s been in Iowa for less than 24 hours but it’s starting to feel like way too long.  Watching Clint’s interactions with his family—even if Bucky gets to make them squirm by playing the role of degenerate boyfriend—has been…unpleasant doesn’t even come close to the visceral anger it generates in Bucky.  He can’t even imagine how hard it must have been for Clint to come here, knowing what was in store for him, but doing it anyway, because Laura had asked and because he loved his niece and nephews.  Despite Clint’s misgivings about it, Bucky’s glad that the whole lot of them are now aware of who, exactly, Clint is.  His feelings of schadenfreude settle in nicely.</p><p> </p><p>They walk for a good half-hour before Bucky breaks the ongoing silence.  “So, I’m gonna take a wild guess here and say that maybe you haven’t quite reached the indifference stage with your family yet.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint side-eyes him and then huffs, his shoulders dropping noticeably.  “Yeah, maybe not quite yet.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re damn good at faking it though.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not all fake,” Clint counters.  “Most of the time I genuinely don’t care what they might think.”  He sighs and slows his pace a bit.  “Honestly I don’t know why it got to me this time.”</p><p> </p><p>“Because we were there?” Bucky suggests.  They all know that Clint carries deep-seated insecurities about his place on the Avengers, so having he and Tony hear Clint’s father and brother scoff in disbelief when Tony had blurted out the truth...it could only have fed into those insecurities.  He’s wrong, of course.  None of them question Hawkeye’s role; he’s integral to the team.  He makes shots that shouldn’t be possible, keeps them safe from above, watches over them.  Keeps them all grounded in reality by reminding them of the frailty of human life. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, probably,” Clint concedes. </p><p> </p><p>They walk in silence for another quarter mile or so before he says what he really wants to say.  “Look, I’m really sorry I came.  If I hadn’t taken Tony’s plane—"</p><p> </p><p>Clint stops and turns, looking him in the face for the first time since they started walking.  “If you hadn’t come, last night wouldn’t have happened.  I’ve got no regrets here.  Do you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Only that you got outed to your family as an Avenger, which you explicated said you didn’t want.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint shrugs.  “There are worse things.  It’s fine.  I can manage it.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know but—”</p><p> </p><p>Clint interrupts him.  “Buck, the <em>only</em> thing that has made a single minute of this bearable has been you,” he says emphatically.  “Even Laura and the kids only made it barely tolerable, but that’s a whole different thing.  I’m really, really glad you came.”  He squints up the road for a second then looks back the way they came.  “Come on.  Let’s get the hell out of Iowa.”</p><p> </p><p>Relief washes over him.  “Well, you don’t have to ask me twice,” he says, as they start walking back toward the farm.  “What about Laura?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll talk to her when we get back.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They can hear the kids laughing and yelling before they round the last bend in the drive that brings the farmstead into view.  When they break the trees, they can see all three skidding across the snow.  There’s a fairly steep rise just beyond the house and they’re bundled in their snow gear and careening down the slope on saucers, squealing all the way.  </p><p> </p><p>An actual grin lights up Clint’s face.  “I used to love sledding that hill.  Couldn’t wait for the first snowfall.  As soon as there was like an inch on the ground, Barney and I—” He stops, and his face clouds over.  It’s pretty obvious that good memories are warring with bad, given what things are like with his brother these days. </p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s not sure what to say, but he’s saved from it when their attention is diverted by movement near the corner of the barn.  Laura is there in her coat, hat, and scarf, her arms folded tight around her to help keep her warm while she stands watching.  She sees them and waves.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey.  You okay?” she asks as they approach. </p><p> </p><p>Clint smiles at her and it looks genuine to Bucky.  “I’m fine.  Cold.  Could use some hot coffee,” he answers.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m so sorry that happened.  I know you didn’t want them to find out.”</p><p> </p><p>“Eh, it was probably inevitable that they’d find out eventually,” Clint says easily.</p><p> </p><p>“Could we…” she looks over her shoulder at the house, then back.  “Could we talk for a minute?  Maybe in the barn?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, of course,” Clint replies, a subtle worried expression passing over his face and then gone.</p><p> </p><p>“You want me to wait here?” Bucky asks.</p><p> </p><p>There’s the briefest hesitation before Laura says, “No.  No, it’s fine.  Come along,” she flashes a small smile at him.</p><p> </p><p>The three of them slip into the barn and Laura throws one last glance over her shoulder as they do.</p><p> </p><p>“Laura?  What’s going on?”</p><p> </p><p>Her face is serious when she says, “I guess you’ve been wondering why I asked you to come here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I have,” Clint admits.  “I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”</p><p> </p><p>She takes a deep breath.  “So, a month ago, the kids were kind of worked up in the house.  It’d snowed a lot before Thanksgiving, and then we had a cold snap.  They were off school for the week for the holiday, and the entire time, it never got above five-below outside.  The kids were…well they were like caged lions; you know how it is.  They get stir crazy and they need to get rid of all that energy somehow.  And, I don’t know, Nate was chasing Coop for some reason and as he ran by his dad, he screeched, and Barney just lost it.  He jumped up from his chair and grabbed Nate by the hair.  I walked into the living room just in time to see Coop grab his dad’s arm and yell at him to stop, and Barney…he hit him, Clint.  He backhanded Coop so hard that he flew halfway across the room.”  While she talks, she takes out her phone and starts swiping through photos.  “Nate was bawling by then and Barney screamed at him to shut up, then shoved him hard and he hit the back of his head on the bookshelf.  It didn’t bleed, but he had a sizeable lump.  You can still feel it.” </p><p> </p><p>Beside him, Clint has already gone fucking rigid, and when Laura turns the phone to show Clint a photo, he practically vibrates with rage.  His eyes are dark as he takes the phone from her hand to look more closely.  He looks like a man ready to kill.  Bucky leans in to see and sucks in a breath at the photo of Cooper, half of his face purple and blue and swollen.  Clint taps at the phone and a couple seconds later, Bucky hears the small vibration from Clint’s pocket as the photo arrives at his phone.</p><p> </p><p>“I was so angry,” she says.  “All I could think about was how many times you showed up at the house when you were a kid, with bruises all over the place and making up stories about how you got them.” </p><p> </p><p>Bucky slices his eyes over to Clint.  He’d told Bucky that his father had beaten him that one time; he hadn’t told him it had happened a lot.</p><p> </p><p>“Has he hit them before?” Clint growls.</p><p> </p><p>She shakes her head.  “No.”</p><p> </p><p>“You?  Has he ever hit you?”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” she answers again.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Laura,”</em> he presses her.</p><p> </p><p>She shakes her head harder.  “He hasn’t.  He’s never lashed out at any of us like that before.  But I’ve seen it building for a while and I was afraid it was coming.  Since Nate was born.  Three kids…the stress…he hasn’t handled it well.”</p><p> </p><p>“Jesus Christ, don’t make excuses for him,” Clint says angrily.</p><p> </p><p>Laura gives him a <em>look </em>and says, “Don’t you snap at me, Clint Barton.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint looks chastened, and Bucky feels an irrational pang of jealously at their closeness, how they clearly know each other so well.  It reminds him a lot of Clint’s relationship with Natasha.</p><p> </p><p>“But trust me, I’m not making excuses.  It’s just a fact,” she says, firm and calm.</p><p> </p><p>“He’ll do it again,” Clint warns.</p><p> </p><p>Laura’s face takes on a fierce expression.  “No.  He won’t,” she says, her voice flinty now.  “That was the first and <em>only</em> time he will ever hurt my children because I’m taking them and we’re leaving.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint sighs out a relieved breath as he pulls her into a hug.  “<em>Good.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>They grip each other tightly for a moment and when they separate, she says, “I’ve been making a plan, since that day, but he’s gotten suspicious.  The bank manager is a hunting buddy of his and he locked me out of our accounts.  Which is why I called and asked you to come.  I’m still going to leave, but I…I was hoping for a little back up, I guess.  I know he’s going to be very angry, and it won’t help that we’re here with Harold.”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you want us to do?” Clint asks without hesitation.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky feels a little internal jolt and something in him warms at the knowledge that Clint trusts him in this, knows without asking that Bucky is on board to help with anything she asks.</p><p> </p><p>“I…I’m not really sure,” she laughs uneasily.  “Without any money, my plan is shot.  I waited this long because I wanted to give the kids a happy Christmas, but I can’t wait any longer.”</p><p> </p><p>“Laura, I have money.”</p><p> </p><p>She shakes her head.  “I’m not asking for that.”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t <em>have</em> to ask.”</p><p> </p><p>She pushes a stray hair out of her face.  “Mostly I just need to get the kids away from him.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint flicks a glance at Bucky.  “Look, we’ve got Stark’s plane.  We’ll fly you all back to New York with us and we can figure out the rest from there.”</p><p> </p><p>Laura chews on he bottom lip for a few seconds then gives a jerky nods in agreement.</p><p> </p><p>Clint visibly relaxes.  <em>“Good,”</em> he says again, and pulls her into another embrace.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry about all of this,” she says.  Even with her words muffled into his shoulder, Bucky can tell that her voice is quavering, chinks in her armor finally starting to show.</p><p> </p><p>“God, Laura, don’t apologize.”  He pulls back and grips her arms lightly, craning his neck to look her in the eyes.  “There isn’t <em>anything</em> I wouldn’t do for you and those kids.  You know that, right?” </p><p> </p><p>She wipes a couple of tears from her face and manages a smile.  “Of course, I know that.”</p><p> </p><p>He pulls her into another quick embrace, shooting a questioning glance at Bucky as he does. </p><p> </p><p>Bucky nods.  Clint doesn’t have to ask; he’ll do anything Clint’s needs him to do.  </p><p> </p><p>Laura pulls back and says, “I’ll go start getting the kids’ things together.  Maybe wait a couple of minutes before you come in so they don’t know we were out here talking?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>With that she slips out the door.  As soon as she’s gone, Clint pulls his phone out of his pocket and brings up the photo, seething as he does.  “That <em>bastard</em>.”   </p><p> </p><p>Bucky would like to kill Barney Barton for what he did, and he barely knows Cooper; he can hardly imagine the rage Clint must be feeling.   </p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Bucky says quietly, and Clint looks up, distracted.  “Do we want to make a plan?”</p><p> </p><p>Clint shoves the phone back in his pocket.  “Yeah.  Yeah, right.  Maybe…when we get inside, you go pack our gear and I’ll help Laura get all of their stuff together.  If the others pick up on what’s going on, there’s gonna be trouble, so be ready.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yep,” Bucky says.  Given what he’s already seen of Harold and Barney, he’s pretty sure this is not going to end without some shit going down.  He takes a deep breath and lets it out.  “Okay.  Let’s do this.”  He moves for the door.</p><p> </p><p>Clint stops him with a light hand to his arm.  “Bucky, I’m sorry to drag you into this.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you kidding me?  This is going to be my genuine pleasure.  Come on.”</p><p> </p><p>The leave the barn and Bucky blinks as his eyes adjust to the bright sun and how it’s reflecting off the snow.  Across the yard, the kids are in various states of climbing up the small hill and sliding down it.  They have no idea what’s unfolding around them and Bucky has a small pang, sad for how they’re about to upend their lives.  Not that he isn’t 100% sure that they’re doing the right thing.  Clint’s right.  If Barney’s hit the kids once, he’ll do it again—of that he has no doubt.  But still, what’s coming is bound to be unpleasant at best, and possibly traumatic, at worst.</p><p> </p><p>They’re just about to the porch steps when they both hear a bang coming from inside.  Clint bolts to the door and Bucky follows right on his heels.  When Clint bursts through the door, Bucky can see into the kitchen where Barney has Laura pinned up against the refrigerator and is grippng her upper arms and shaking her, yelling in her face.  Clint is on him in a second, tearing Barney off of her and punching him in the face.  Bucky gets vicarious enjoyment out of that.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you okay?” Clint asks Laura, eyes jumping from her face to her arms where she’s rubbing them.</p><p> </p><p>“You little shit!” Barney yells as he scrambles to his feet.</p><p> </p><p>In the time it takes Bucky to blink, Clint has Barney pinned against the wall, forearm pressed hard against his neck.  Bucky crosses to the back door and locks it, quickly tugging the small curtain cross the window so the kids don’t see if they happen to come back to the house that way. </p><p> </p><p>Harold and Claudette are moving quickly toward the kitchen at the commotion and Bucky steps over to the doorway and puts his arm out.  “Please.  Try it.  Give me a reason,” he says, really, truly hoping they do.</p><p> </p><p>“Get offa me you little fuck!” Barney hisses, trying ineffectually to push Clint away.</p><p> </p><p>All the calm that Clint had managed the last 24 hours is gone when he pulls Barney back six inches and shoves him <em>hard</em> into the wall.  Over his shoulder he says, “Laura, go pack all your things.”</p><p> </p><p>Laura disappears, skirting past Harold and Claudette without a word, giving them a wide berth.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t you dare, you bitch!” Barney yells after her, but Laura’s already gone.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not ever going touch her or those kids again, you hear me?” Clint says, pulling Barney forward and pushing him into the wall again.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, who’s gonna stops me?  You?” Barney sneers, trying unsuccessfully to buck out of Clint’s grip. </p><p> </p><p>“Bucky,” Clint says to him, but keeping his eyes on Barney.  “Go grab our stuff and bring me my bow.”   </p><p> </p><p>Barney tries again to get out of Clint’s grip, but gets nowhere, and Bucky can see the moment when a sliver of fear creeps into his expression.  He enjoys it entirely too much.  As he leaves, he gives Harold a warning look. </p><p> </p><p>Behind him, he hears Clint say.  “I would <em>love </em>an excuse to put an arrow through your eye.”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s your brother!” he hears Harold splutter. </p><p> </p><p>Barney’s not deterred.  “You think you’re so great because you’re a fucking Avenger or some bullshit,” he spits.  “I thought they were supposed to be the good guys.”</p><p> </p><p>“We are.  The thing is, Barney, <em>you’re</em> <em>not,</em>” Clint says, low and dangerous. </p><p> </p><p>After that, Bucky can only hear muffled sounds of raised voices, mixed in with the ongoing happy yelling from the kids outside.  He races to the small bedroom and shoves their things into their bags, grabs Clint’s bow and quiver, darts back downstairs and dumps their bags by the door and is back in the kitchen in under two minutes.</p><p> </p><p>Clint’s got his forearm across Barney’s throat again, and Harold and Claudette have moved to the table and are sitting.  They don’t look happy.  Clint must have said something menacing to get them to be so cooperative.  He wishes he could have seen that.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” Clint says, releasing Barney as Bucky hands him his bow.  “Sit down,” Clint barks at Barney.</p><p> </p><p>“You’d shoot your own family with that thing?” Harold asks, incredulous.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Clint answers, stepping back so he can keep the three at the table in sight while he nocks and draws an arrow in one fluid motion, “but you’re not my family.”  Clint turns his head toward Bucky but keeps his eyes on the others.  “Bucky, can you go help Laura?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky feels a second of hesitation, worried not about what Clint might do to them, but about how Clint will feel afterward if he does, because Clint’s calm now, but he’s calm like he is during a battle:  focused, primed, and ready to do whatever is necessary.  But Bucky goes, and finds Laura in the basement, quickly packing things into three small suitcases.  She’s not paying attention to what goes where, and Bucky sees large navy-blue sweatpants being shoved hurriedly into a pink princess suitcase.  She looks up when she hears him come into the rumpus room.</p><p> </p><p>“What can I do?” he asks.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t stop what she’d doing.  “That hamper,” she gestures with her head.  “Can you gather the kids gifts from under the tree and put them in there?”</p><p> </p><p>“Got it,” he says, dashing back up the stairs. </p><p> </p><p>He’s just throwing the last of the toys into the hamper when Laura rushes up the stairs.  “What about your things?” he asks her.</p><p> </p><p>She shakes her head.  “I don’t care.  I don’t need any of it.  Let’s go,” she says, grabbing her coat.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky shoves the hamper toward the front door.  “Go get the kids.  Take them right to Clint’s car.  We bring everything else,” he tells her.</p><p> </p><p>She nods and is gone.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky returns to the kitchen, where the three at the table are swearing and yelling but Clint is wearing a blank mask.  When he sees Bucky, some life returns to his face.</p><p> </p><p>“We’re leaving,” Clint says to the room.  “Laura’s taking the kids and you won’t see them again.”</p><p> </p><p>“You going to kill us?” Barney asks, chin tipped up defiantly, but Bucky can hear the real fear in his voice.  “Is that how you think you can keep me from my kids?”</p><p> </p><p>“I won’t need to.  Because as you saw today, Tony Stark is a close, personal friend of mine, and his lawyers will ruin you if you even try to fight this.  Trust me, I’ve seen them do it to better people for lesser reasons.  But if you come after them, try to hurt any of them again, you bet your ass I will kill you and I will not regret it for one second.” </p><p> </p><p>“You’re a monster,” Claudette snaps.</p><p> </p><p>Clint turns slightly, his arrow pointed toward her.  The color drains from her face.  The blank mask slips from Clint’s face and Bucky can see the pain and anger it’s been hiding. </p><p> </p><p>“If I am, it’s because your husband turned me into one by beating the shit out of me for my entire childhood while you enabled him.  I was <em>child</em>, Claudette.  A <em>kid</em>.  He broke my ribs, my cheekbone, my arm, my nose.  And you didn’t do a goddamned thing.  And <em>you</em>.”  He shifts the arrow toward Barney, who flinches.  “You fucking hit your <em>son</em>?  I should kill you right now, you sonofabitch.”  He pulls the draw a little further and Barney flinches.  “You will never do to them what he did to me.  You understand me?  This ends now.  If you come after them, if you ever come near them—any of you—you will regret it.  I promise you.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s only silence in the room.  From outside, Bucky can hear Laura’s and the kids’ voices, but their words are indistinct.  When they hear the car doors slam, Clint finally shifts his gaze from the people at the table over to Bucky. </p><p> </p><p>Bucky nods at him and Clint releases the draw.  “Go,” Bucky says.  “Help her with the kids.  I’ve got your back.” </p><p> </p><p>Clint gives him a grateful look and steps past Bucky into the living room where he gathers the kids’ suitcases and his own duffle and leaves through the front door. </p><p> </p><p>Harold lunges out of his chair and Bucky punches him hard in the face.  There’s a satisfying crunch under his metal fist as the man’s jaw audibly fractures.  He goes down like a ton of bricks, whimpering and holding his face.  The other two stare in terror and don’t move.  It’s what he’s wanted to do since the minute he met the man and it’s every bit as satisfying as he imagined it would be.</p><p> </p><p>“Merry Christmas to me,” Bucky says, standing over Harold.  “You have no idea how much I was hoping you’d give me a reason to do that.”  He looks around at the three of them, thinks about the wreckage they’ve left in their wake.  “You’re all the monsters,” Bucky tells them, before turning to go.</p><p> </p><p>He picks up the laundry basket full of toys, grabs his own duffle, and slams the door behind him as he leaves.  The others are already in the car—the three kids in the back seat, Clint behind the wheel.  Laura shifts over to make room for him in the front seat.  The kids look confused, uncertain, maybe a little scared.  But Bucky can also see the relief on Cooper’s face, and that right there tells him that there’s no question this is the right thing to do.</p><p> </p><p>Clint leans forward to look past Laura at Bucky and Bucky nods.  Clint throws the SUV into gear and drives them away from Harold Barton’s farm.  Bucky’s never been happier to put a place in the rearview mirror.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>An hour later, Bucky leans against the cockpit doorway.  The plane has been refueled and he’s waiting for Clint to get back from squaring things with the airport manager.  The minute they get clearance to take off, Bucky will be lifting this bird out of here.  He’s been keeping one eye the entrance to the airport, watching for the sheriff’s 4x4, but it never arrives. </p><p> </p><p>In the cabin, the kids are mildly subdued.  Nate is sitting on his mom’s lap, looking half-asleep while she reads to him and Lila, who’s curled up in the seat next to them—a new book that Santa left under the tree.  Cooper is alternately intensely studying the Lego guide and digging through the loose Legos that Bucky had tossed into the hamper.  He’s pretty sure he’d gathered them all when he’d been quickly shoveling toys into the bin, but if not, he’ll go steal another from the closet at the Tower.  All things considered, Stark probably won’t mind. </p><p> </p><p>Clint comes trotting up the stairs into the plane.</p><p> </p><p>“Good to go?” Bucky asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Yup.”  He pulls the stairs up behind himself, latching and locking them in place.  “Let’s get the hell out of here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Buckle in, everyone,” Bucky calls to Laura and the kids.  He can’t get this plane off the ground soon enough.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Once they’re firmly up in the air and the other Bartons are just a puff of memory, Bucky turns on the autopilot and stands in the cockpit doorway again, watching the others.  Laura looks to be sound asleep in one of the seats that reclines fully into a bed in the back, and Clint is sitting in a seat next to Lila.  It looks like she’s got the Lego Avengers figures from all three boxes of Legos on the wide tray between their seats, and the two of them are moving them around in some sort of concentrated way.  Cooper and Nate are on the floor in the wide aisle, putting their Lego sets together.  Well, Cooper is putting his together and Nate is assisting—the older boy pointing to the picture of the little colored pieces he needs and the younger digging around the mess at the bottom of the hamper to try to find them. </p><p> </p><p>Lila looks up from where her Hawkeye is fighting Clint’s Hulk.  “I changed my mind,” she says to Clint.</p><p> </p><p>“About what?” he asks as he makes his Black Widow pounce on her Thor.</p><p> </p><p>“My favorite Avenger is Hawkeye.”</p><p> </p><p>Clint grins.  “Thank you, Darlin’,” he says, bending over to kiss her on the top of her head. </p><p> </p><p>“Who’s your favorite?” she asks him, her expression serious and interested.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, if you asked me that question a week ago, I’d have said Black Widow, no question.”</p><p> </p><p>“But not anymore?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nope, not anymore.  Now I’d definitely say it’s the Winter Solder.”</p><p> </p><p>“You mean Bucky,” she says.</p><p> </p><p>Clint looks up and smiles at him.  It’s the truest smile he's seen since on Clint since he’d gone to Iowa.  “Yeah, I mean Bucky.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Uh…oops…some angst fell in my humor.</p><p>I think this is the only MCU fic I've ever written that I didn't whump on Clint, in some way.  I must be getting soft. 😆</p><p>Thanks, as always, for reading.  I always love to hear your thoughts.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks so much for reading; comments/feedback are treasured and appreciated!  </p><p> </p><p>This story is part of the Long Live Feedback Comment Project whose goal is to improve communication between readers and authors.</p><p>This author invites:</p><p>*Short comments<br/>*Long comments<br/>*Questions<br/>*Reader/reader interaction</p><p>Author responses: This author replies to comments. If you don't want a reply for any reason whatsoever (you feel shy, you have anxiety, just because), feel free to sign your comment with "whisper" and I will appreciate the comment and respect your wish that I not respond.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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